“What about Angel?” Buffy asked, confused as she stared at her old classmate, dropping her boxing gloves on the floor with a thud. “Did something happen to him?”

“Welll…” Cordelia hesitated, and crossed her arms over her chest. “Happen is such a strong word…”

Buffy glared at her with hard green eyes. “What happened Cordy? Tell me now.”

“Okay…well…he sort of…lost his soul.”

“WHAT?” Buffy exclaimed, her head rushing with the new information, the room spinning as she fought for control. This couldn't be happening. How could this have happened? “What the hell, Cordy?”

“It's Darla,” Cordelia said quietly, her expression worried. “She got resurrected by this big evil law firm. She also brought Drusilla back. And well…I'm not sure what went down, but somehow they made Angel lose his soul.”

“He didn't try and kill you?” Buffy questioned, functioning on autopilot. “Usually he likes to…torture his nearest and dearest.”

Cordelia shuddered and leaned against the wall, her straight raven hair swishing against her tanned shoulders. “Well, it's not like he didn't try…but he was a little out numbered. And you know, Buffy…I always thought I would just stake him if the time came…but I couldn't…”

Buffy's eyes reflected remembered pain as she gazed at the girl. “I know the feeling. Listen, where did he go? We need to find him as soon as possible.”

“He took off with his little posse of whores, and from there…I don't know,” Cordelia shrugged, smiling. “But hey, I'm sure we'll catch up with him soon! I mean, you and your closest friends were always the people he enjoyed killing the most…” she trailed off at Buffy's expression. “Well, I didn't say that was a good thing…”

“Okay, first things first…” she was cut off as Giles entered the room, his eyes bleak as he handed her a newspaper clipping, rubbing his forehead. She glanced down, the name of the paper, “The London Times” barely registering as she read the headline.

RASH OF BIZARRE, UNEXPLAINED KILLINGS

“Oh God…” she murmured. “He's in London. Where did you get this?”

Giles looked faintly sick as he said quietly, “I always get a paper sent to me from England. He knows that, Buffy. He wants you to follow him. I don't think it's wise…”

“Oh, I'm going,” she interrupted and pressed a hand to her forehead, trying to calm herself. This seemed surreal, and she didn't want to believe it was happening. Would she have to kill him again? Her stomach heaved as she remembered the feel of cold sword in her hand, the flash of silver…the gaping wound…Acathla's hungry mouth…salty lips, slick with sweet tears…Close Your Eyes…

Could she do it again? Could she make herself? “Get the curse for me, Giles,” she said coolly to her Watcher, her face betraying none of her emotions. “I'm recursing him…and find one without the happiness clause thing.”

“That may not be possible, Buffy,” he uttered hesitantly, and he and Cordelia shared a look. “I have the curse…but you would have to take Willow along to perform it and—“

“Take Will? No way,” she said firmly. “I won't endanger her like last time. Angelus and I have to face each other alone. As soon as Dru and Darla are dust, we're going to have a little showdown. In that time I will somehow tie him up and recurse the bastard. All right? Willow can teach me the Wicca. It shouldn't be that hard.” Catching the terrified glaze that had shaded Giles' eyes, she arched her brows at him. “I'll be fine. Don't worry.”

“I don't think this is wise, Buffy…the power that Angel has over you…”

“No power over me. I'm my own woman,” she said forcefully and then grabbed his arm. “Curse, now! And Cordy…can you pack for me?”

Cordelia looked less than thrilled. “Oh great…what am I? Your personal slave?”

Ignoring her outburst, she ordered, “Pack everything I have in black, all my leather pants, and anything that looks sexy.” Her mouth curled as she thought. “Angelus likes sexy, which could be useful.”

Cordelia looked stunned, as she cried, “Oh God! You like Angelus?”

“Gimme a break, Cordy,” she snapped back, stalking out of the room. “I have to find Will. Giles, book me on the next flight.” She turned back and eyed him for emphasis. “ALONE.”

~~~

As Buffy waved to her friends, family and Watcher, she breathed shakily, walking up to the entrance ramp to the plane, wondering what she was getting herself into. It had all happened so fast. Giles unearthed the spell, Willow gave her a crash course in Wicca, Cordelia packed for her, her mother alternately got worried and furious, and Dawn thought it was cool and wanted to go to. Buffy sighed as she walked onto the plane, nodding to the stewardesses, finding her seat without difficulty.

Sitting down, she pressed her face against the window. LAX had never looked so good. Suddenly she wished she was back in her room, curled up on her bed, reading magazines, chatting with Willow on the phone, and trying to get Dawn out of her room. Anything but heading off to a foreign country to chase after her demon ex-lover.

Closing her eyes, she covered herself with the blue airline blanket and willed herself to sleep. The flight was long enough. She didn't want to spend it worrying. Besides, she needed her rest. There wouldn't be any once she got to London.

~~~

“We are beginning our descent into Heathrow. Please fasten your seatbelts and return all tray tables and seats into their upright and locked position.”

Buffy listened to the monotone of the stewardess and bit her nails. What was she doing? Was she certifiably insane? Taking on three powerful vampires, one of which she used to love, another which she had a huge grudge against, and one that was crazy, not to mention Spike's former lover. The thought occurred to her that if she staked Drusilla, Spike would be furious. He had already been acting strangely anyway…wanting to go with her on the trip…shaking her head, she shrugged to herself. Who could figure Spike out?

As the plane landed smoothly, people onboard clapped, a practice that was not unusual with British people and Europeans. Collecting her bags, she disembarked and went though customs and baggage claims without much difficulty. Catching a huge black taxi, she instructed him to drive her to the Churchill Hotel, where she had reservations.

Buffy dropped her bags in the small but comfortable room and changed into black leather pants and a black sweater. She didn't know where to start looking, but had a good idea. The nightclub scene. Vampires wanted fresh, young blood, and that was where the youth were.

She exited the hotel, glancing around curiously. London already fascinated her. She noticed the red telephone booths, the fact that they drove on the other side of the road, the different style of the buildings…more elegant or something she couldn't quite put her finger on. Grabbing another cab, she got a drive to the center of the action, and wondered where to really start looking. Usually vampires frequented the allies behind the clubs, where they could take their prey without getting caught.

Stalking the streets, a waif in black, her keen senses picked up on all the lust throbbing in the air. She had felt him the second she stepped off the plane. His inherent presence…sharpened with something feral, wild, animalistic. Angelus…he terrified her in ways she had never taken time to explore.

“Come out…” she whispered, wishing it was over. Through the crowds of people, she weaved in and out, seeking, seeking. Entering a club without difficulty, she felt the pounding of the techno beat spill over her, and the hazy heat envelope her body. Stripping off her sweater to reveal the black tank underneath, she dropped it in the coatroom, not really caring if she saw it again.


Bodies, sleek and young and firm, danced in the throbbing beat of the club, hands grabbing, twisting waists, thighs that curved… it all rushed together as Buffy began to dance, trying to get further into the crowds. She could smell him…hot and hungry…where was he? His presence was overwhelming her, sinking into her bones as she let her body undulate, throwing her head back and embracing the sensuality of the music.

“Slayer…”

It was a hiss…and she felt hands on her hips, whirling her around. Drowning in his gaze, she looked up at the man who looked like Angel but carried a demon inside him and smiled. “Caught ya.”

He smiled as well, a slow, sleek affair, predatory, hot…he looked as if he was going to eat her. Or as if he simply wanted to. “Caught? Oh, Buff. You do have so much to learn. But then…” he leaned in close and she felt his cool lips on her ear, “I'm ready to teach you.”

“Not interested,” she snapped, and gasped softly as his tongue dipped to trace the lines of the scar on her neck.

“No?” he asked mockingly, pulling her close in one sudden movement, pulling her body flush against his. “Funny, cause I would say you are…mmm…you taste good Slayer. Like blood.”

Buffy shuddered, trying to struggle from his grasp, but he held her tight, and she knew parts of her didn't want to escape. “Where are the girls?” she inquired, arching a brow at him.

“Dancing…together…” he laughed slowly, and she knew what he meant, flushing. Of course she had guessed that vampires were intimate with each other, but the actual reality hit home.

“Look…Angel…”

“It's Angelus, Buff. I know it's hard to accept, but your…well, not even your boyfriend anymore I guess…” he taunted, “he's dead. And I'm what's left. Personally I think we all get the better deal. No one has to deal with the whining and…”

“We all get to listen to you talk just cause you like the sound of your own voice?” she cocked her head to the side and he growled, bending down and nipping at her neck.

“You're looking hot, Slayer…” he breathed, flicking his tongue over her lips, moistening them teasingly. “Want a taste?”

“No…” she groaned helplessly, but he laughed, and it rang with knowingness. “No…”

“Oh yes…” His mouth covered hers, and the music pounded in Buffy's chest as she felt her lips being ravaged by this monster she was supposed to loathe. And she did…oh God…she did. It wasn't as if she didn't hate him…

Curving her body against his, he swirled his tongue in her mouth, drowning her with his taste and scent, gripping her head with one hand as he fed off her lips, nipping them ever so lightly, letting small trickles of blood flow into their mouths. The saltiness flooded her tongue and she muttered helplessly, her thighs rubbing against his leather clad legs, the hot evidence of his animalistic desire for her rising up against her belly.

Just as suddenly as he grabbed her, he let go, watched her as she fought for control, her mouth red and swollen, her eyes wide. “That was just a taste, Slayer. Much more to come…”

As he disappeared into the crowd, his duster flying behind him, Buffy licked her blood stained lips and let the beat wash over her once more. She hated him, she was going to kill him someday, somehow, but his kisses were sweet, and the stain of them on her mouth was something she could never wash off.

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