Blood Of The Innocent

By Fyre


Author: Fyre
Rating: NC-17 (Definitely not a nice fic, but it will get...erm, well...worse)
Summary: The Master has risen in bonny Sunnyhell and wackiness is about to ensue.
Pairing: The Master/Willow, Darla/other (implied)
Notes: Based on the 'Wishverse' Improv, I can see this becoming a mini-series of sorts. And, my theory is that, since Buffy didn't come to Sunnydale, Angel didn't have to stake Darla to save her, so Darla's still undead and kicking :) What can I say? I like a good vampy bitch-fight as much as the next person. Also, I have to make a point that I NEVER saw any of Season one. Not when it was on the first time. Not when it was repeated. Not even on videos. The only time I've seen the Master was in 'The Wish' eppy and Buffy's dreams and the only time I saw Darla was in Angel's flashbacks and stuff. Apologies for dodgy character interpretations :)

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Dark velvet swung heavily aside, the proud figure that emerged through the doorway hideous, inspiring, terrifying. Puckered lips pulled back from much-elongated fangs in a chilling smile, the screams of terror music to his ears.

The assembled teenagers, some barely more than children, whimpered, cowered, herded like lambs to the slaughter by the beautiful masks of the fallen angels, lulled into false security by the smiles and gentle words.

The leader of his people turned to him, her still-beautiful visage lighting in a proud smile. He curved his hand, beckoned her to him, her blue eyes blending into gold as she approached, sank on one knee.

"Darla." His clawed hand stroked over her hair, deceptively gentle, his chilling smile never wavering. "What have you brought for me?"

She inclined her head towards the group of humans. There were about ten of them, some sobbing, some struggling, one unconscious on the floor. "I found the best I could." Her distaste for the town was apparent. "The solitary, the wise, the angry. All young."

He nodded, moved to his ancient throne. Settling on it, he crossed his legs at the knee, steepled his fingers, eyeing the small group. True, they didn't look of as high a standard as found in larger cities, but they would serve their purpose.

One of the young men, a tall boy who looked around sixteen or seventeen was still struggling, glaring at the blonde. "What the fuck's going on?" He snarled, smashing his head back against one of the vampire's that was pinioning his arms, only to receive a solid punch in the face that knocked him backwards. "Shit, man! You broke my nose!"

The girl by his side shook her head, laying her hand on his arm gently. "No, Devon." She whispered, looking over to the throne, quickly averting her gaze as the demon tilted his head, regarding her. "Don't make them angry."

"The dead fuck broke my nose." Devon – if that was his name – grunted, wiping at the trickle of blood from his nostril with the back of his fist. He stumbled to his feet, eyes moving from the uncaring figure of Darla to the one on the throne, smirking.

Catching his daughter's eye, he smiled tightly, nodded. In a heartbeat, she had crossed the room in fleeting steps. The arrogant teen swore loudly as her steely grip jerked his head down, snapping his head back, her fangs sinking into his throat.

The girl beside him watched the scene, her pigtailed hair hanging down on either side of her untainted features. Others screamed, struggled more. Another fainted. She just stood. Stared emptily as the life was drawn from the young man.

He smiled as his daughter drew a soft breast from within her high- necked shirt, raking a talon across with a taut smile. Her blood bubbled through the cut as she pushed the youth's mouth to her roughly, his mouth hungrily latching onto her, a perversion of Madonna and child.

Laying his lifeless body down, the blonde rose, breathless with the pleasure of a turning a new childe, her lips crimson with his life. Crossing to her Sire, she offered her throat to him, eyes sinking shut as he bit into her, tasted her desire.

But it was growing stale.

He sat back, gestured her aside and gazed at the remaining teenagers, in particular the girl who had stood next to the dead child. She was intriguing. Quiet certainly, but there was promise there, within that shy innocence.

Still kneeling, one hand to her open throat, Darla stared at him, her bitterness as his rejection clear, her jaw clamped shut. He smiled at her, ignored the expression, gestured to the red head with one hand.

"Bring her to me."

"Master..."

One hand caught the blonde by the throat, eyes terrifyingly calm and deadly. "I said," He repeated quietly. "Bring her to me."

Pulling back, her blood smeared over the marble-white expanse of her throat by his rough hand, she turned to the teens. Every female in the group cowered back. All but the girl who had caught his attention.

Grasping the girl by her arm, Darla forced her to the throne, pushed her roughly to her knees, less than a foot from the throne, her eyes gazing at the floor, head bowed in what seemed to be a combination of fear and humility.

"Child," One clawed finger under her chin, he tilted her head up. Green eyes continued to stare at the floor, a single tear running down her cheek, her arms hanging by her sides. "I would advise you to look at me, little girl."

Darla snorted in disgust, arms folded over her chest. "She's nothing, Master." She said, voice dripping with venom.

He ignored her, waited patiently as the girl slowly lifted her green focus to him. Age had taught him patience. Darla would never learn, changeable and fickle. Her swain, Angelus, had proven that to him. Her slut's nature had never truly been lost.

However, in this young human, he saw the blurring of innocence and elements of concealed strength. Clearly, his former favourite had not noticed this, expecting the girl to merely provide a light meal.

Green met gold guilelessly, devoid of fear. A trace of sorrow perhaps, but no fear that was so common. Devoid of disgust also, which made him all the more intrigued. Too often, lately, he had found fledgelings staring at him in disgust.

Needless to say, they hadn't lasted long.

Cupping her chin in his hand, he smiled, examining her features carefully. His thumb brushed her cheek lightly, his eyes never leaving her face.

Yes, there was definite potential in this child.

******


After seeing Devon die, forced to drink from the vampire, Willow had felt something cold squirming inside her, her stomach twisting uncomfortably as she realised she was going to face one of two fates: that of Devon, or that of a meal.

Gazing down at the teenage musician who had been her companion on school trips for so many years, even though he rarely acknowledged her, she found the blonde woman by her, the grip on her arm painful, but she made no sound.

On her way home from Xander's she had been caught by the blonde woman. The woman who insisted that they were in danger and ought to hide at the Bronze, until it was safe to be out on the streets.

*Will Xander cry for me like we cried for Jesse?* She wondered, as she was forced to kneel in front of the figure on the throne. *Will he become one of them like Devon? Like Jesse? Or like me?*

The sting of blade-like claws beneath her chin lifted her head, the terrifying-looking man speaking to her, ignoring the blonde. Obviously, the blonde was important to him, but he was ignoring her for Willow. *Hello? What's happening here?*

Making herself look at the man they called Master, Willow was resigned to her fate, but couldn't help examining the Master's face, curious. Why did he look like that? She had always assumed vampires would look like he did, but the others didn't, so why did he?

His thumb brushed her cheek, light, surprisingly so. The smile that crept onto his face, revealing ragged fangs should have terrified her, but didn't. Half of her wanted to reach out, to touch his features, to see if his flesh felt as rough as it looked.

Hand still under her chin, he made her rise to her feet, stood, gazing down at her. One hand loosened her braids, her silk-like red hair falling in a sheening sheet between her shoulders. He nodded, approving, circled her.

Gasping at the chill of the air on her body, she clenched her fists, set her teeth and stared straight ahead. One clawed hand ran up her bare back, making her shiver, her body arch, from fear? Pleasure?

Resuming his seat on the throne in front of her, he made a gesture with his hand. "Turn." More on an order than a request, she turned full circle on shaky feet, finding gold-tinted blue eyes glaring bitterly at her from beneath blonde hair. "What's your name, child?"

Bowing her head, she returned to her original position, goosebumps rising across her skin, her head bowed, teeth biting down on the inside of her lip. *I'm not going to cry. I'm not going to cry. I'm not going to cry.* Her voice shaking, she replied. "Willow."

The Master leaned forward. "Very well, Willow." He tilted his head, seemed to examine her body for any imperfections, reached up to her barely-existant breasts, smiled at her single, shrill note of pain as his claw sank into the developing mounds.

Falling back a step, hand clutching her chest to stem the bleeding, she lifted her bloodied palm, stared at it. Rubbing her fingertips together, she returned her gaze to him. She could act the gutless wimp and start crying now, she mused, or go out impressively.

Raising her dripping fingertips, she sucked the tip of her index finger between her lips, the taste of the blood metallic on her tongue. Looking at the Master from beneath her lashes, she could see his intrigue and pushed her hair back from her neck with a shaky hand.

Sinking to her knees, she tilted her head to one side, inhaled a nervous breath and pressed her eyes shut.

*******


He frowned, traced a fingertip down her bared neck, saw her shiver once again. He could detect a faint scent of fear, but her posture spoke more of calm confidence and quiet determination than that.

Most humans girls would have fainted from the pain of what he had done to her, or from the shock of seeing blood like that. A lot of them did that when they saw him too, though. This girl was definitely a prime catch.

He sensed Darla's atonishment and disapproval, raised his eyes to her. Running his thumbnail lightly up and down the girl's jugular, he could barely hear anything beyond the thunder of her heartbeat.

"She's nothing." His blonde childe insisted, taking a step forward. "Just a child. What use will she be to us?"

Envy.

That was good.

It would be intriguing to see how the relationship would develop between his centuries old childe, a whore, a harlot in her human life, and this fresh face, this innocent who had never even known the touch of a man.

He smiled chillingly.

Intriguing indeed.

"Do you dispute my choice, daughter?" His calm anger spoke measures more than an angry shout ever would. The blonde took a step back, bowed her head in a fitting display of submission to her Sire.

"No, Sire." She replied sullenly, glaring at the floor. He nodded in approval, cradled the kneeling girl's cheek in his left had, tilted her head a little further to the side. Lowering his face to her, he inhaled her scent.

Ah, to take them as innocents and have them smelling as sweet for an eternity was truly one of the beauties of the kiss of the Vampyre.

Her lips parted to let a soft gasp escape as his fangs cut into the tender flesh of her throat, the fire of her blood exploding on his tongue. The spice of the flavour made his unneeded breath catch, his hand sliding to her throat and slamming her harder against his mouth.

The sensation of her slender hands gripping him to her, be it for the wrong or right reasons, surprised him. Her left hand to the back of his neck, right at the base of his back, she moaned, her breath escaping in pants.

Gradually, the frantic patter of her heart slowed and he drew back, licking drips of her blood from the corners of her mouth, her body solely supported by his arm around her waist. Still on her knees, her form seemed to have folded limply back on itself, her long hair pooling like bloody silk on the dusty floor.

Lifting his wrist, he paused, looked down at her. Smiled coolly, spotting Darla staring at him apprehensively. This girl would be her equal, if not more. Shifting his hand, he opened a cut in his throat, jerking her up, using his other hand to lift her lolling head to the wound.

Blood dropped several inches to her slightly parted lips, dripping like light rain, her eyes fluttering open weakly, fixing on the source of this liquid, this nourishment.

Weakly drawing herself up, she knelt between his feet, her blood trickling unheeded from the deep cuts on her slender neck down between her breasts, down her belly, down to the soft mat of copper curls.

He hissed as her mouth sealed over the cut on his neck, her bloody breasts rubbing against his chest through the rough leather of his clothing. So long since he had made a childe that was sheerly for pleasure. Especially a female.

Her hand slid up his chest, her mouth burning against his flesh, her hand pulling his throat closer, drinking, drinking. Drinking eagerly, drinking more than Darla had, drinking deeply, her body shivering.

Finally pushing her back, letting her sink onto the floor to suffer first death, he sank back on the throne, eyes closed in satisfaction. "Bring me something to eat." He spoke quietly, lazily, half-opened his eyes to gaze down at the naked girl on the floor at his feet.

On her back, right arm flung wide, finger pointing threateningly at the thus-far survivors, left hand resting on her bloody breasts, sightless eyes stared in the direction of the group. Her calves folded under her thighs, streaks of red stained her bone white skin, a sheer piece of art to look at.

He mentally smiled, leaning back, folding hands in his lap.

She would be exquisite.

******


Beyond the incredible sensation of fangs plunging through the flesh of her throat, the feeling of her blood rushing through her, her pulse pounding thunderously in her ears, the rest of her senses seemed to have taken leave.

All she could feel was her life fleeing her and undeniably erotic sensation of the Master's rough lips against her skin, suckling at her flesh, devouring her, bolts of electricity shooting through her body.

Then she was falling, felt something drip on her lips, something that would take away her sudden, horribly nagging thirst. Grasping for the source, she felt it filling her, warm, bitter and ebbing with power.

Drinking it down, mouthful after mouthful, she felt it spilling from the corners of her lips in her desperate need to catch as much as she could before her body completely shut down, before it fell into the impending darkness.

But he stopped her.

Then the darkness dropped on her like a cloak, blinding her, deafening her, leaving her alone with her thoughts of waking and confusion. *Am I dead? Is this what its like to be dead?*

Until something filled her. More than the blood. More than the bewilderment. A feeling of incredible power, of invincibility.

Opening her eyes, her lips arched upwards in a smile. Stretching her body, she realised she was no longer where she had fallen, the feeling of silk sheets gliding over her body sending a tingle of hunger through her.

Pushing aside the pale drapes surrounding the bed, she stood slowly, flexed her body. Her perceptions seemed the same, yet completely different. Everything was clearer, more vivid that she could recall it being before.

Smacking her dry lips together, she pulled a face, the taste of dried blood staley hanging on her breath. "And I thought morning breath was bad." She murmured, looking around and finding a door leading off from the bed chamber she was in.

Pushing the door open, she grined.

On the floor, a teenage boy lay, bound and gagged and clearly terrified by the naked red head who was standing over him, her eyes gold, face ridged, her sensual lips pulled back from gleaming white fangs in a terrifying smile.

"Don't be afraid of me." She murmured, stroking his blonde hair with a gentle hand, bending to run her finger down his face, felt his pulse thrumming rapidly against her fingertips, blood rushing through him in a torrent.

That was when the hunger hit her. Worse than need for food, she gasped, dropped to her knees, her fist bunched against her stomach, grit her teeth.

Grabbing a bunch of the boy's hair, ignoring his squeak of protest around the gag, she plunged her fangs into the flesh of his neck, her body sprawled over his, bucking with pleasure as his blood exploded into her body, surging into her dead veins.

The instant before his heart stopped, she released him, dabbed at the corners of her mouth with her fingertips and stood up, pushing the body into the corner and turning on the power of the small shower, something she would never have expected to see at the Bronze.

Stepping under the flow of water, one part of her hunger sated, she let the warm water stream over her slim body, soaping the crusts of blood off her chest and torso, wondering when her Sire would appear.

*****


Glancing at the bed, he allowed himself a small smile. She was more powerful than he would have predicted, up earlier than any of his prior children had ever been, after their first deaths, as far as he could recall.

The rush of water from the shower told him where his childe was, her scent reaching him, her hunger crying out for him.

Stripping off his clothing, he entered the bathroom, immediately seeing that she had dealt with the meal he had left for her. Pushing aside the curtain of the shower – useless modesty – he slammed her against the icy tiles of the wall, her hands pinned above her head.

"Sire." She whispered, voice awe-filled.

"Childe." He acknowledged. "Did I tell you to feed on that boy?" Of course, he had meant her to, but that wasn't the point. She jutted out her lower lip in a delectable pout, damp hair hanging in curtains around her face. Backhanding her viciously, he leaned closer, narrowed his eyes. "I asked you a question childe. You will answer."

"No." Her pout intensified, eyes gleaming with pleasure.

He repeated the blow, her lip bursting open, a gush of blood mingling with the water that was running down her face. "No what, Willow?" His intonation sent a thrum down her spine.

Staring at him defiantly, she shrugged. The blow he delivered to her gut sent half of her meal swirling down the drain, leaving her doubled over on her knees, blood dripping from her mouth into the flow of water.

"What?" He repeated, voice calm.

Looking up at him, arms crossed over her chest, sodden hair clinging to her back, shoulders and chest, she swallowed, then replied. "You didn't tell me to feed on the boy, Sire." Her voice was a whisper, head bowed.

"Good girl." His voice suggested that the lesson was far from over. "Show me what you can do, childe."

The little voice in her head parroted that it was about sex this time and sex was always going to be good, so she hesitantly lifted her head, came head-to-head with the Master's erection inches from her face.

What remained of the human girl screamed that she was staring at a full grown male penis, but the part of her that was horny simply saw something to alleviate that tension. Under her stare, it seemed to enlarge that little bit more.

"Well?"

"Sire...I don't...I can't..." His fist knocked her onto her back, a cut opened next to her eye by the ring on his finger. A ring that had been hers as a human. A blur of red obscured her vision, the blood seeping over her eyes.

"Don't tell me no, childe." He warned, grasping her by the throat and pulling her to her knees roughly. "You will learn the same way as the rest of us had to learn." He tightened his grip on her throat, forced his rock hard member between her lips.

Gagging, the girl's eyes widened. Ignoring her distress, the Master thrust cruelly into her innocent's mouth, his hand twisting cruelly into her tangle of fiery hair, the blood from her lips smearing over him.

Aware he was probably tearing the back of her throat to pieces with his savage rape of her mouth, he forced her head closer, felt her fangs scraping his cock, her claws sinking into his thighs in rhythm with each thrust.

Her whimpers of pain grew softer and feebler by the minute, her hands falling limp. She had learned something, hopefully, or else she was deeply stupid andmore masochistic than the average vampire.

Exploding into her tired and bloody mouth, he carelessly released her hair, leaving her to slump to the bottom of the shower, semen and her own blood trickling from between her bruised and torn lips, mingling with the lukewarm water.

Stepping out of the shower, he towelled himself dry, redressed and left her there. Lesson one had been safely administered.

******


Shakily getting to her feet, coughing up more semen and blood, Willow collapsed over the side of the shower-bath, dropping onto the puddled tile floor.

Her throat was in agony, her mouth aching. Swallowing felt like she had ground glass for saliva, closing her mouth sent fireworks of pain bursting through her jaw, standing felt like her stomach had been run over by a tank.

Note to self: Don't piss daddy off.

"So you had your first lesson, huh?" Big sister leaned against the doorframe, a sardonic smirk on her face, arms crossed over her breasts. "Someone got their Sire really pissed off, didn't they, little girl?"

Her legs still shaky, the red haired vampire got to her feet. Something suggested that this blonde didn't like her and that the feeling should be mutual, so – as a polite introduction – she gather a wad of whatever she left in her mouth and presented it to the blonde's face, limping passed her, into the bedroom.

A resounding kick caught her across the back of the head, knocking her headlong onto the dishevelled bed. Her arm was twisted behind her back, the blonde pressing her wrists between her shoulder blades.

"Just because my Sire chose you," The blonde hissed fiercely. "It doesn't mean anything. He wants a screw, nothing more, little girl. He'll tire of you soon enough, I promise you." Her demon surfaced and she sank her fangs into the younger vampire's shoulder, ignoring the youngster's struggles and snarls. "Remember, little girl, I've been a favourite for centuries."

Twisting her neck to stare at her rival, the red head forced a painful laugh. "He's tired of you, old woman." She said, her voice rougher and more rasping than she remembered it being. "He wants fresh blood." With an added smirk, she finished. "And brains."

The crack of her wrist resonating through the room, she muffled a cry, biting into the mattress as the blonde vampiress stepped back. "We'll see, infant." She said coldly, turning and stalking out of the room.

Rolling onto her back, sprawled on the sheets, beads of moisture rolling down her body, she blinked back tears of pain and frustration, looking at her wrist. A clean break. That was a small mercy. She pushed it carefully back into place, grimaced.

An envelope pinned to the wall at the head of the bed caught her eye. Arm clutched to her chest, she stretched painfully up to pluck it down, opening it and skimming over the words with a despairing groan.

But she would obey, of course.

Moving to the closet, she found the named 'garment', pulling it on carefully, selecting a pair of thigh-high boots with three inch heels for added effect. Pausing, to rub a damp washcloth over her visage that was invisible to her, she limped her way down to the throne room, as ordered.

Eyes fixed on the floor, she moved to the throne at the Master's gesture, knelt down before him, only to feel one hooked finger brush over her bare shoulder, pausing at the unhealed bite mark left by Darla.

"Who did this, childe?"

"Your Childe, Sire."

He tilted her head up, examined her face again, smiled chillingly at her. "Tell me her name, Willow." He ordered, gesturing for her to move alongside the throne.

"Her name is Darla, Sire." Her voice low, she bowed her head, moved to his side, a small smile of pride creeping onto her lips as his hand stroked absently over her loose hair. She glanced at the assembly of vampires, several of them looking as battered as she no doubt did.

Two of them she recognised.

Devon stood alongside Darla, his face bruised and bloodied. She almost smiled. Devon always was stubborn. He would have been hell to tame. The other was – much to her surprise – naked, chained at wrists and ankles, his back a map of lashes.

Somehow, Jonathan never struck her as the dominant type.

He held his head with a proud look on his features, ignoring the vampires queuing up to fuck him, concealing his pain to meet his Sire's eyes, a small, arrogant smirk curving his lips up, his blonde Sire looking like she was either ready to stake him or jump his bones.

"Darla." Willow stiffened, her Sire's voice halting the proceedings, his hand still running over her hair as if she were a large feline. The blonde looked over, eyes narrowing at the sight of the red head clad only in a series of strategically placed straps and sitting at the Master's left hand. "You touched my childe?"

A stunned silence fell, Devon wisely taking a step away from the older vampire. Darla gave an elaborate shrug. "She offended me and I held seniority, Sire." She replied, her voice as smooth as honey. "I saw it as my right to..."

"Bored now." Lifting her head, Willow shook her hair back from her face, her bruises visible to all, her voice husky. "She mocked your education, Sire." Unable to resist the urge to rub the older vampiress' nose in it, she rose on her knees, gave her Sire a sultry look. "She claimed you still wanted her more than I."

The Master brushed his knuckles lightly down her cheek, her face butting against his hand, as if craving his touch. "That may be true, childe." Willow's half-closed eyes lazily opened. "Or it may not, but it is no concern of your."

She bowed her head, resuming her position, seated by the foot of the throne, her face shifting back to human form, green eyes mockingly meeting Darla's icy blue ones. The Master might have control, she knew, but it wan't over between her and the blonde.

Not by a long shot.

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