|BACK TO CHAPTER INDEX| |SERIES INDEX| |Main|

Title: THE MASTER WILLOW SERIES: Master Willow
Author: psimetis
E-mail: psimetis@hotmail.com
Distribution: Near Her Always. Extra Flamey.
Rating: NC-17
Beta Reader Creds: Props to my second set of eyes, Zee! Eny mickstakes ar myne. Do check out Zee’s fiction at: http://www.geocities.com/at3sparky/Stories.html


* * *
CHAPTER SIX: WILLOW’S WOMEN (Where There’s A Slayer, In Your Face, Wills. Let’s Role Play.)


*SMACK*

Tara tumbled backwards, falling hard--mostly from trying to avoid the blow, but Willow’s unconscious backhand had connected anyway. On the vampire’s bed, Willow’s body tensed again, caught in the stifling throes of some gripping nightmare. It was midday; Tara had dropped by the mansion between classes, intending to surprise her lover. However, the young witch realized something was wrong the moment she entered the bedroom. Her mistake had been in getting too close to her vampire.

“DRU!!” Tara yelled. She scrambled to her feet. On the bed, Willow broke into her demon visage. Her face screamed, but no sound came out. Tara ran to the hall. “DRU!!”

She nearly bowled into the naked form of Willow’s sire, obviously roused from sleep. Tara took hold of Drusilla’s slender arm and urged her into the room.

“Nightmare--” Tara said frantically. “I can’t wake her--”

The dark haired vampiress needed no further coaxing. Dru practically flopped onto the bed, straddling her childe. She easily caught Willow’s arms and pinned them. She placed her smooth forehead to Willow’s hard ridges.

“NN--” the pinned down redhead whimpered desperately, trapped in her dreamscape. “NN--NN--NNN--”

“She’s dead, dead, dead,” Dru softly sang, as she kept her forehead tight to Willow’s. “Listen my sweet...she screams. Look, she’s all inside out. No more laughter from that one, her throat’s torn out. I plucked the chords. I strung a mandolin with them. Her sword, we--”

“Shoved up her CUNT!” Willow screamed, her voice harsh and demonic as she reared up into her Sire’s arms. Sire and childe clung then, Dru making soothing sounds to her now wide awake Precious. Willow gasped harshly, dead lungs working. She stared wildly over her sire’s bare shoulder at Tara.

The blonde witch shook. Willow’s violent words echoed and reechoed within her. Despite her shock, she could easily guess at the painful context for such fearsome anger from her vampire. She sat down slowly at the bed’s edge and stared into large yellow eyes that were wet, enraged, and frightened.

“K-Kitten?” she heard Willow whisper shakily. The lips against her fangs trembled as her arms sought desperate comfort in Dru. “I hit you?”

“Accident,” Tara stated, surprised at the firm tone of her own voice, when she herself felt utterly disassembled by the high emotions resonating in the room. She raised a hand to her vampire’s face.

“Bad dream,” Willow blurted, clinging to Dru. “Talked too much last night. Brought back my old dream.”

“Old dream,” Tara breathed. Her thumb tentatively touched Willow’s demon features. “Bad slayer.”

Willow snarled, and hopped in Dru’s lap, frustration and anger in the keening sound she made in her throat. She clung to Dru, and Tara did not drop her hand. The young woman watched rage, then misery, and finally pained resignation possess her vampire’s demon face. Willow raised a hand, mirroring Tara’s gesture, and touched the young woman’s own features. Tara winced, realizing that the gentle fingertips were caressing a rapidly forming bruise.

“Hurt my Kitten,” Willow wailed mournfully.

* * *

‘Sides’


PROTECT, Buffy had written at the top of her notebook paper, as she showed Kendra the list she had worked out while pretending to take notes in American Lit. It was afternoon, and they were in Sunnydale High’s library. School was ending for the day, so the other White Hats were expected to make an appearance soon. The word ‘Protect’ was idly written on Buffy’s note paper because of the argument she had with Mom that morning--an argument concerning her being out far too late on a school night. A confrontation that was very much about Buffy’s seeming continuance with her Slayer role, despite being incapacitated.

“You don’t have to do these things anymore, honey, not while Kendra’s here!” her mother had exclaimed, totally exasperated. It was no way to start a morning for Mom, who had to go to work and drop her two daughters off to school--one of whom, the youngest, had already begun withdrawing sullenly within herself at the rising tension. Buffy tried to end--or at least postpone--the argument as swiftly as possible.

“I still feel the need to protect,” she had declared. “I still need to do something to keep you all safe. I can help Ken’ do that,” she had tried to reassure her frustrated mother. Because it was morning, and they had to hurry, Joyce did leave the emotional discussion at that, for the moment.

Thus, under the all important word Buffy hoped her mother would not be able to argue against, the blonde Slayer had listed the major concerns she felt she and Kendra should currently address:

1) Kill stuff
2) Watch for new Big Bad
3) Willow (what is she up to)
4) Make Buffy’s poison thingy

A smiley face was drawn near point four--just to emphasize its importance to her sister Slayer, Buffy had concluded.

“See,” Buffy began, indicating point two and explaining it to Ken’. “Willow’s not even owning up to being Master. We still don’t know. So we have to assume that outsiders are going to get interested and try to move into town. Angel thinks that’s a real good possibility, anyway.”

“Indeed,” Giles added, as he descended the library steps from the upper level. “When he was Angelus, he had, on occasion, taken such advantage himself, if he, Darla, or his childer were not directly responsible for some clan’s demise. Granted, he and his Family never maintained their territorial conquests. I believe such usurp of power was more an exercise in ‘fun’,” Giles concluded wryly.

Kendra nodded gravely at her Watcher’s words, while Buffy frowned. She didn’t exactly like hearing about her boyfriend’s infamous past. He was Angel now; he was different.

“So we keep the pressure on Willie until we hear of who the new wannabe Bad--or Bads--are going to be,” Buffy stated. She glanced up at Ken’. “It sometimes helps to beat the info out of any vamps you come across,” she advised. Kicking around vamps for information had been a former fun pasttime for the blonde Slayer, she had to admit. That, and ridiculing their fashion sense.

“Vampire presence is low,” Kendra gave. “I find nothing but abandoned nests. The Wicked has made her vengeance known.” The Jamaican Slayer didn’t have to explain to her Watcher and to Buffy exactly how she knew Willow was responsible; she had already told them of finding a red ‘W’, scrawled or painted in plain view at the emptied nest sites she had come across.

For a while, all three present in the library fell to silence as they considered the information, and the evidence of Willow’s apparent ruthlessness.

“Opening,” Giles began carefully. “Communications with Willow would be wise.”

“And how do we do that?” Buffy countered. “Wave a white flag to Miss Wicked and say hey, let’s parley? She hasn’t given us anything, Giles. I don’t like it. Until we know what she’s up to next, I’m not feeling too friendly at the moment.”

Giles noticed Kendra almost imperceptibly steeling herself, obviously disliking the idea of ‘communications’ as well. Buffy, seated in her wheelchair below him, was understandably antagonistic. They were Slayers; they did not make it a habit to negotiate with evil.

“Yes, well, we could pretend to being amiable to parleying, couldn’t we?” he suggested drily. “Some information of what might possibly be going on is certainly better than none.”

Before either of his Slayers could voice a response, the library entrance doors swung open, and the tall, poised, and perfectly dressed figure of Cordelia Chase strolled in.

“Hello, kids!” she greeted brightly, as she walked directly up to where the Watcher was standing near his Slayers. She had met the new Slayer when she had dropped off Joyce-mom at the Summers home that one night. Cordy only gave the superhero girls a cursory glance and then turned her attention to the librarian. “Giles, I’m here for a book. Or several, if you got them.”

“Why, yes, I do indeed. Tara’s list was quite clear,” Giles replied, slightly flustered by the young brunette’s rather brusque directness. “Welcome back,” he then added. Although he had heard from Joyce that Cordelia was still alive, it was still startling to see that it was true. He was very curious to find out how she survived such a vindictive vampire attack.

“Thanks,” the former cheerleader acknowledged. “It’s good to be back.” She continued to stand before him with a hand on her hip, radiating her trademark imperial attitude. “Can you get them now?” she demanded.

“Of, of course,” the taller British man muttered as he turned away. He had nearly forgotten how remarkably ‘tactful’ the young brunette could be. It was so typically--her. “I shall fetch them for you, Miss Chase,” he imparted with dry flippancy.

“So, Cordelia,” Buffy addressed to her former White Hat’s back, as the brunette stood facing the spot the Watcher had vacated. “What’s the what? What happened after you brought Mom home from that dinner with Willow?”

It was barely discernible, but Buffy thought she saw Cordelia stiffen before turning around and flashing her ‘Miss Photogenic’ smile.

“What happened was, I decided to accept Willow’s offers,” the former cheerleader gave casually. “So you’re looking at the new owner of Chase mansion and the part owner of the new Bronze, girls.”

The two Slayers before her fell to shocked silence, even as Cordelia heard Gile’s heavy step behind her as he reemerged from his office. No doubt the librarian was also stunned by her news.

“Cordy...” Buffy tried to speak. “W-Why?....I mean...how could you?” she ended accusingly. The library’s double doors swung open again, and Larry, Oz, and Amy walked in. One look at Cordelia, however, and the dark haired witch turned suddenly and flew back out the doors.

“How could she what?” Larry grinned, catching the last of Buffy’s words. He stopped dramatically to point at Cordelia. “Whoa, you’re alive!” the football player exclaimed. “I owe Anya ten bucks!”

Cordelia had stepped forward at the sight of Amy, wanting very much to pursue and speak to the girl who was apparently responsible for her current state of ‘aliveness’, but the former May Queen reigned herself in. All the White Hats’ attention was on her, and this was something she had to get through, especially since she didn’t want to repeat this ‘reunion’ scene. That, and she really needed those darn books.

“Cordy’s joined up with Willow,” Buffy stated flatly, still staring at the tall brunette with disbelief and a hefty amount of disappointment in her hazel eyes. “She accepted Vamp Will’s offers.”

“Well that’s just great,” Larry declared sarcastically, mutual disbelief and other emotions evident in his face. “Are you really our Cordelia returned from the dead, or are you maybe, space pod Cordelia? I knew you were selfish, but you weren’t that evil.”

“I am Cordelia, Mr. ‘I eat raw eggs for breakfast’,” the brunette snapped. “And since when haven’t I looked out for myself? Face it, playing with the White Hats got me killed--twice. Buffy can’t watch out for me now, and no offense Kendra, but I don’t want to be on your list of responsibilities. Willow is definitely not going to kill me, and I consider that a good thing. And not only that, I get paid! I’m in it for what I can get,” Cordelia declared. “And unless you Slayerettes can promise me something better, you can wish me luck, or get the hell out of my way.” And with that, Queen C tossed her shiny, brunette mane and moved determinedly for the Watcher’s office door. Once Giles politely stepped aside, she walked right in. The Englishman shut the door behind her.

“You better have those books in here,” she muttered, holding her head high.

“I do,” Giles answered quietly. “I just need to speak to you, Cordelia.”

“Do they know?” Cordy suddenly hissed at him. She still kept the pretense of standing tall. She could not look at the Watcher.

“Know?...” Giles asked softly.

“That I was the one who dropped her off at that mansion, that night,” Cordy stated stiffly. “That night when she said Angel would be there, and that Xander would pick her up later. That night,” Cordelia added roughly.

“I’m the only one who knows,” Giles assured quietly, behind her. “You and Willow left together from my library and you dropped her off at her request at Angel’s.” He moved closer to the young brunette. “You could not have known that Angel had already been taken prisoner by the Master and that Spike and Drusilla were at the house. You cannot find fault with yourself, Cordelia.”

“I lived only a block away, Giles!” Cordy snapped, finally looking up at the Watcher. “And yes, I’ve wasted plenty of nights thinking of what I could have done different to at least change what happened that night, but do you know what’s funny? Not once has she said anything about it. Not even a, ‘Hey Deel’, remember that night when you dropped me off to be killed?’. Even though it doesn’t matter to her, it sure as hell still matters to me. So if I want to do something stupid like work for her.” Cordelia folded her arms, trying hard to make it not look like she was hugging herself. “I see no reason to explain why.”

Giles moved slowly to his desk, realizing that the young brunette had returned to avoiding his eyes. Cordelia had always been a very proud girl. Even when Xander was her acknowledged boyfriend, she rarely shed the armor she held around herself and allowed comfort to be given her.

“Frakes’ A Portrayal of the Vampire Family,” he read quietly, then lifted the aforementioned book and set it aside. He read the title of the book beneath it. “Ettenberg’s Brethren: Analysis of the Secret Hierarchal Society of Vampires.”

Giles ceased reading the titles and carefully placed the large books in an order the young woman could easily carry. He picked them up, but paused before placing them in the arms Cordelia stiffly held out.

“Since Tara found these beneficial, I’m certain they will help you too,” he offered. “If you have any questions, don’t hesitate to ask, Cordelia.” The young girl before him only nodded, and accepted the books. Cordelia turned for the door. She was surprised to feel the Watcher’s large, warm hand upon her shoulder. It was a firm grip; it was masculine, it was reassuring. For a fleeting moment, she thought of her dad, and of Xander.

“Don’t consider yourself abandoned,” she heard the man behind her assure softly. “There is no black and white here. When you need help, come to us.”

“Thank you, Giles,” Cordelia managed to answer graciously, and the smallest of smiles appeared on her lips as she glanced back at him.

“And if you feel the need, to share what is happening to you,” Giles suggested.

“I’m not allowed to speak about Willow’s business,” the young brunette interrupted, her declaration sounding practically recited, the Watcher discerned. He vaguely recalled Tara saying much the same thing once. “But let me figure out what I can tell you, and get back to you,” she offered with a larger, more genuine smile.

“Very well, then,” Giles acknowledged, realizing his sudden idea to procure a liaison to Willow through Cordelia might not work anyway. The only way to genuinely communicate with Willow, without affecting the humans she controlled, would be to speak directly to the vampire herself. He returned the young woman’s smile. “Very well.”

* * *

Buffy pushed her wheels along, mulling over what she and Kendra had overheard in Giles’ office only an hour ago--by pressing their Slayer enhanced ears to the door, of course. After the White Hats meeting and after Buffy had explained Cordy’s startling (and confidential) confession to Ken’ in more detail, the Slayers felt a walk to the Magic Box was in order.

“Wonder where Amy ran off to, she had wanted to come with,” Buffy remarked distractedly. Poor Cor’, she thought. Queen C was definitely having conflicting loyalties if she was going to just give up her own, once all important, ‘I am all that exist in this universe--losers!’ life and hand it over to evil Wills like a neatly wrapped present. Buffy could relate to the ‘survivor’s guilt’, however. She even had to agree with Giles when they discussed the Cordy situation after the former cheerleader had left. They could only take a ‘wait and see’ attitude and hope Willow didn’t hurt the former White Hat May Queen. Much.

Kendra did her bare impersonation of a shrug at Buffy’s question. The Jamaican had known Amy Madison longer as a pet animal rather than as a human witch. Someone who would turn herself into a rat was definitely disturbed--or disturbing--in Kendra’s personal book.

“We dust de Wicked,” Kendra concluded. “Both dat girl and the good witch’s problem are taken care of.”

Buffy just rolled her eyes, even as she determinedly rolled her wheels along the sidewalk. Kendra was definitely the sort of Slayer with a real one track choo choo brain.

Jingling! Sang the Magic Box’s door bell as Kendra pushed open the door for Buffy’s wheelchair.

“Good afternoon, potential White Hat customers,” Anya greeted cheerfully from her front counter. “We do not have crippled people access,” she helpfully informed. The former demon watched the Jamaican Slayer lift Buffy from her wheelchair, set the blonde Slayer aside, place the chair on the store floor below the steps, and walk back up to retrieve her friend.

“Unless you have super strength, then you may wheel yourself around freely,” Anya added with less cheer, as Buffy proceeded to do just that down her precariously narrow product aisles. “Please pay for any displays or merchandise you break.”

“Hello Anya,” Buffy greeted with chirpy enthusiasm as she parked herself before the counter. “We have a list of stinky things we want you to fulfill!” Kendra stoically reached over the counter and handed Anya a handwritten list.

“Ah,” the shop owner exclaimed, as she read the paper. “Let me copy this down, and...” She quickly began writing the list down on a pad. “...And then see what I have downstairs in the stock room, because.” She glanced up to smile at the two girls--well, at Kendra anyway. Buffy, being in a wheelchair, was located lower than Anya’s line of sight. “Some of what you have here...I am not supposed to really have. Not according to the FDA and U.S. customs, anyway.”

“You have the list right there, you don’t need to copy it,” Buffy frowned.

“Yes I do need a copy,” Anya replied, as she continued to do that. “With certain plant matter I am not supposed to actually have, it’s good to keep a list so that I remember what to restock--when you return to refill your order, which you are certain to do, of course.”

Buffy shared a meaningful look with Kendra.

Anya suddenly found the paper she was writing on, torn from her pad and deliberately crushed before her eyes by a richly coffee colored hand.

“Hey!” Anya protested, as Kendra then retrieved her own list from the counter top as well. “That’s destruction of store property!”

“Anya,” she heard Buffy practically drawl. To Anya’s increasing discomfort, the Jamaican’s dark eyes narrowed into a menacing stare as she stood before her. “Why were you copying our list?”

“Well, if you must know,” Anya retorted, folding her arms defensively. She gave her newly light blonde hair a toss. It would figure that neither girl would notice the hair color change, Anya chose to mentally grouse. Of course, her color job was superior to Buffy’s, therefore the blonde slayer would not choose to notice. Anya tried to return her nervous attention to the tension at hand. “I have a partner in the ownership of the Magic Box, and it would be in her best interest to also know of what certain, sensitive stock we have on hand that is being sold.”

“Anya, we’re the Slayers,” Buffy frowned up at the ex-demon. “You are supposed to look the other way when we buy illegal stinky stuff.”

“Didn’t you just hear what I said?” Anya exclaimed. “I have a partner to answer to now. Willow and I are the co-owners of the Magic Box!” she announced proudly.

Anya beamed, and waited for the expected congratulations on her capitalist achievement. Instead, two pairs of eyes stared intensely back at her.

“Did you say,” Buffy repeated slowly. “Willow owns the Magic Box?”

“And Anya,” Anya added helpfully, realizing that the blonde Slayer was in her typical ‘I am strong but slow of brain’ mode. Again, she waited for her deserved praise.

And found herself looking at the retreating back and chair of both Slayers.

“I understand,” she called out from behind her counter as Kendra negotiated the steps with Buffy’s wheelchair, the blonde Slayer watching from where the Jamaican had placed her on the steps. “You are probably going to the card store to find the correct card of congratulations. That would be very appropriate, you know, for a ‘life step’ like this. Ownership. Oprah said so. Or was that Martha Stewart,” Anya added, more to herself. She heard the bell jingle behind the departing Slayers. “Make it a pretty card!” Anya bade them.

As soon as she saw the Slayers move out of range of her windows, the store owner--most deserving of a congratulatory card, Anya personally concluded--pulled out her store phone. She quickly dialed the number to Willow’s cell phone.

* * *

Willow’s tongue was busy wrestling wetly with the gold nipple ring at her Kitten’s bared breast. Her hand fondled the other pretty ring as her tongue worked. She suddenly sucked in the lovely, turgid node beneath her hungry mouth, ring and all.

“MMPH! Will--Willow--!!” Kitten gasped above her. One hand gripped the headboard and the other was tangled in Willow’s hair. They were in Kitten’s dorm room. After her nightmare, the vampire did not want to remain at the mansion and instead accompanied Kitten back to campus. She stayed in Kitten’s room until her witch finished with afternoon classes. She practically attacked Kitten when she finally returned. A ravishment was exactly what she wanted to do to her girl.

Her cell phone jingled merrily. Willow was vaguely surprised by the fact that she had even heard it, her head so filled with the gorgeous, aroused sounds Kitten was making and the lush beat of her hot blood. The hand not fondling her witch’s breast now shoved her girl’s skirt up. She took hold of the cotton panties and whipped her arm back, hearing the satisfying rip of fabric.

Jingle jingle jingle, continued her phone.

Her own knees pushed apart Kitten’s as she rose briefly up and tongue wrestled the other gold nipple ring that had been neglected of her mouth’s touch. She easily pushed a few fingers into her wet, hot girl.

“Oh WILLOW!” Kitten cried beneath her, arching into her delving hand.

Jingle jingle jingle jingle--

“RARRRRRRR,” Willow growled suddenly, her concentration finally broken as her mouth left her witch’s breast. She halfheartedly pumped her fingers a few times more into Kitten’s wonderful pussy. Her stupid, busy mind could not help wondering who was insistently trying to call her, and for whatever apparently urgent reason. The demon in her roared, forget it!! Keep fucking your Kitten! While her more mature Master side forcefully dragged her raging attention away from the luscious, writhing subject at groping hand. Willow growled one more time in loud defeat, and reluctantly stilled her questing fingers in Kitten’s delightfully tight channel.

“I’m sorry baby, I’m sorry I’m sorry,” she murmured, kissing Kitten’s hot face all over as her free hand reached blindly for her phone. Before she answered her constantly singing phone, however, Willow decided to take a moment to fill her dead lungs repeatedly with slow inhales and exhales of air, simulating calming breaths. Beneath her, Kitten writhed and pushed up against her stilled hand, whimpering. Willow, feeling relatively calm finally, pressed her lips once more to Kitten’s forehead before answering her phone.

“Willow,” she said evenly.

“Willow!” she heard Anya’s excited voice exclaim. “I need to give you the list! Before I forget most of it! But I think I already have. I think I forgot most of it when I had to recall your phone number--”

“Anya,” Willow interrupted calmly, a little personally proud at the nice bit of detachment she had managed to construct for herself in order to deal with this phone call--at least temporarily. “Explain from the beginning, please.”

As Willow slowly coaxed Anya’s story from her, the vampire idly sat back on her heels. Her spread knees continued to keep her own witch’s lovely bared legs spread apart as well. Kitten looked utterly debauched, yet smoldering in her sexual frustration, as she lay breathing heavily on the bed before Willow’s lusty perusal. Her blouse was torn open, the ragged fabric framing her witch’s breasts and their well sucked nipples. Her skirt was bunched up high over a bared, curvaceous pelvis and a swollen, wet sex. A beautiful, slick sex that was currently housing Willow’s fingers quite nicely, and snugly. Willow grinned and flexed her hand to reach further inside. Kitten quickly pressed her arm to her mouth.

“Anya,” Willow finally said, deciding she felt firmly in enough control to resume fucking her sweet Kitty again. She began pumping her hand. “Do you still have that pad of paper?....Try this then. Take a pencil, hold it sideways and begin to shade the paper lightly....”

As Willow listened to Anya babble about how she was handling her pencil, she watched how her own hand was handling her Kitten. Her poor girl was blushing, but was already lost to her own wantonness. Her hips moved off the bed to meet the thrust of Willow’s hand.

“Both hands on the headboard. Do it for me, baby,” Willow instructed softly. With a frustrated sound, Kitten did as she was asked, both hands rising to clutch desperately at the board. Willow thrust even harder, watching her witch’s delicious tits bounce.

“I got it I got it!” she heard Anya squeal into the phone at her first successful attempt at revealing written impressions from a supposedly blank sheet of paper. Oh I got it all right, Willow’s lust addled brain thought in moronic fashion to itself, as she stared at what she was doing to her very juicy Kitten. Glistening inner thighs danced before her appreciative eyes. “Would you like to hear the list now?”

SmackSmackSmackSmackSmack

“Or would you like to finish your sex with Tara?” Anya inquired, obviously recognizing what the wet, frantic sound was.

“Oh, text message some of it to me with your new cell phone,” Willow suggested distractedly, realizing that Kitten was getting increasingly frustrated against the slick pistoning of her hand. “....You’ve never done that before?...Well then, see, now you can learn. And email me the complete copy--send it to Puppy. Uh huh. Just like we discussed, with the special header and everything. He’ll access it right away and run it through the database. Uh huh.....yes. You’re so wonderful, Anya,” Willow gave sweetly, and she could practically feel her shop partner beam right through the phone. “Tell you what, let’s have dinner later. Yes, you, me, Kitten, and see if Delia will come too. Yes. Seven. Okay, see you then, bye bye, Anya.”

Willow immediately tossed the phone and buried her face right into Kitten’s frantically thrusting, needy mound. Against the rough, rhythmic shove of her tongue and fingers, she finally felt her witch cum hard with a scream.

* * *

Ten minutes later, Willow collapsed on top of Kitten, her witch’s thigh still firmly wedged between her legs. She felt Kitten’s pussy clench hard around her fingers once more.

“Ugh WilWilWilWilWillow--” her witch raggedly gasped. Her muscles practically ground Willow’s fingers again. I can die like this, the vampire thought happily, as Kitten panted beneath her. She heard her phone give a little alerting jingle from the floor. Anya’s text message.

Five minutes later, Willow had her arms wrapped around her boneless Kitten, and was gently massaging the huge bruise on her witch’s face with her tongue. Kitten had to use a glamour spell to hide it, since the healing spell would not rid her face entirely of the glaring evidence of Willow’s carelessness until tomorrow. They were going to have dinner tonight at Giano’s, and vampires and certain demons could easily see past a glamour. Willow utterly detested the idea that other demons would get the impression that she liked marking her Kitten’s face. Obvious marks were cheap and vulgar. She continued to lick the bruise.

“Sleepy, Kitten?” Willow whispered, peering down finally and seeing Kitten’s wonderful, thick lashes gracing her cheeks. Kitten murmured incoherently and cuddled closer. Willow felt deliciously sated as well, but did not want to doze. She caught sight of her phone lying on the floor.

A bit of magic, and it sailed up into her hand. Very carefully, without disturbing Kitten, Willow accessed Anya’s text message. What her searching eyes read made her go utterly still.

“What’s wrong?” she heard Kitten breath against her throat, having felt her body’s change. Willow glanced down briefly and saw her witch’s blue eyes flutter open.

“Nothing baby, it just looks like the Slayers are up to something,” Willow answered thoughtfully. She turned her phone’s screen so that Kitten could read what it said. It listed only the names of two plants, but it was enough.

“Those,” Kitten frowned, as she stared at the words. “Those are used in curare.”

“Yes, baby,” Willow acknowledged, proud of her witch. The plants were South American, but apparently Kitten’s knowledge of plants went a little beyond the usual magical herbs. Curare was another name for the mixture of certain deadly plants used as a paralytic agent for Amazonian blow darts.

“Buffy and Kendra want that?” her girl questioned softly, biting her lip as she regarded the phone screen. Willow kissed her forehead, and shut the phone off. She tossed it away.

“Don’t worry your pretty head, Kitten,” she comforted. “Willow will take care of it.”

“Mm,” was all Kitten murmured in response. She returned to snuggling against the vampire again.

* * *

“She owns the Magic Box,” Buffy said distractedly, as she pushed her wheels along. “She owns the Magic Box.”

And now Anya’s working for her too, her mocking brain chose to add, interrupting the Slayer’s penchant for simple repetition of newly discovered facts.

“Where else can we go for these?” Kendra simply asked, indicating her ‘erb list and easily ignoring Buffy’s repetitiveness. Apparently, the Jamaican Slayer was not phased by the fact that they had possibly lost a rather helpful aide to the White Hat team. Buffy stopped her chair and sighed.

“Giles knows the magic shops in L.A.,” the blonde Slayer said. “We’re just delayed some more, now that magic supplies are cut off on our home turf.” She saw her fellow Slayer lift an eyebrow at that. “I know,” Buffy said hastily. “We can still use the Magic Box, it’s just that now Willow will know about everything we buy, even if it has nothing to do with her and all to do with some other Bad thing we’re fighting. It’s just weird, and--” Buffy struck her chair’s arm rests in frustration. Thankfully she didn’t hit them at even a tiny percentage of Slayer strength. “--It’s so darn sneaky of her!”

That’s my Wills, Buffy thought sourly. Buffy the muscle, Willow the brains. And now here she and Ken’ were, two muscles and no brains (wait a minute! her own brain weakly protested). Counting Larry, and maybe even Angel, that was four muscles. Giles, Buffy belatedly remembered, did count as a brain (yay, home team!). And Amy and Oz could be counted on for....different kind of muscles. Magic muscles, and...wolfy dedication. The blonde Slayer attempted to mentally outline who was on her side of the playing field, and who was now known to be on Willow’s side. It wasn’t until they were absent from her own team that Buffy suddenly realized the actual value of Tara, Anya, and, well, even May Queen Cordelia.

Besides the fact that Tara saved my life! Buffy thought in frustration, regretting yet again the lost of the gentle witch. Gaaaaah!!

“Yah mon, de Wicked’s a smart one,” Kendra agreed. She took hold of Buffy’s chair handles to get them moving again, since Buffy forgot to work her chair and think at the same time. “De sooner we stake her, the better.”

Buffy groaned. And here was Ken’, with the one track mind. She wanted to let out another groan when she realized they had reached her mom’s art gallery door. There was the matter of resolving--somewhat--the argument begun this morning. She knew Mom could spot them through the windows, if she was looking their way.

“Stay Ken’?” Buffy pleaded. “I’ll buy you ice cream.”

Kendra maintained her steely demeanor but there was the twinkle of mirth in her dark eyes. She gave Buffy an actual firm grip on the arm.

“Be brave,” her sister Slayer lightly advised. “I have to go and do what’s on de top of yer list--‘kill stuff’, mon.” And with that, Ken’ turned and jogged off into the rapidly descending dusk. Since it was winter, the nights arrived far earlier. The slaying was busier during the long winter nights. Buffy watched Kendra go, wishing she could follow.

“See you at dinner!” she called out hopefully after her friend’s back.

* * *

‘Family Relations’


“A gift, from the table there,” the waiter politely indicated with a nod of his head as he showed Willow the bottle. She, Kitten, Anya, and Delia, were seated at her usual booth table at Giano’s.

“I accept,” Willow acknowledged. Once the very fresh blood was poured into a glass, Willow raised it in the direction of the table the gift had originated from. The well dressed woman seated at the table raised her own glass in return.

“Who’s that?” Cordelia immediately inquired. The woman looked to be in her late thirties, very classy looking, in a very Jackie Kennedy manner. Cordy realized her own mother would have found this particular woman an understated fashion maven after her own haute couture heart--without the two people with pet collars kneeling beneath her table, however.

“That’s Heloise, the bleeder’s club owner,” Willow informed with a smirk, as she enjoyed her wine glass of blood. “I had her competition staked.”

“Heloise?” Cordy commented. That poor woman, she thought. No wait, she reminded herself. A name like ‘Buffy’ was far worse.

Willow swallowed, then licked the rim of her glass. “I think she was Turned during the fifties,” she finally said.

“Perhaps she likes Doris Day too,” Anya remarked, having finally learned a little bit more about the movie star icon after reading the cd jacket to the song she now knew by heart. Tara and Willow only looked at the ex-demon, slightly baffled.

“Are those two human?” Cordy then asked, referring to the two with pet collars. She was still staring at Heloise’s table, impolite as such an open stare was. The young, pretty girl kneeling at Heloise’s feet was resting affectionately against the vampire’s legs (real silk stockings, Cordy noted. Had to be), while the young man was happily accepting treats from Heloise’s beautifully manicured hand. Suddenly, the very same dish the Jackie vampire was feeding her boy with, made an appearance at Willow’s table as well. The waiter set down the large platter of fried calamari with a flourish.

Anya squealed, Tara grinned, and Willow smiled indulgently at her--‘Pet’, Cordy reminded herself, having read probably only a fourth of the way through that book about vampire families, before she and Anya had to get ready for dinner. ‘Human Agent’, Cordy mentally pointed at herself; ‘Pet’, Cordy assessed, looking at Tara; ‘Master’, she determined slowly, watching a grinning Willow accept some calamari from Tara’s fork. Pronouncing ‘master’ when it was connected to herself gave Cordy’s brain a slight mental stumble. God, what a hard word to say! she thought.

And actual human ‘Business Partner’, Cordy concluded, as she turned her attention to Anya and the expressive way the former demon was savoring each bite of the entree. Cordelia couldn’t help the slightest twinge of jealousy. Anya, though, with her hard earned monetary assets, was certainly deserving of more ‘status’ with Willow than the penniless Chase. Also, the ex-demon had a thousand years of experience to bring to Willow’s family; Cordy was understandably uncertain as to what exactly she brought of value to Willow. Maybe just her damn good looks and Bitch attitude.

“I’m sorry, Delia, you were asking?” Willow addressed, finally turning her attention away from Tara.

“It’s all right, I figured it out,” Cordy answered. “I’m just glad you don’t keep Tara under the table.”

The dark blonde coughed suddenly, her face turning a bright red. Anya helpfully smacked her back.

“Deeelia,” Willow playfully cajoled. She had a fork raised to Cordelia’s mouth, with its succulent offering of perfectly fried calamari. “I like my Kittens right here, with me,” she grinned.

“Just remember, I’m not your Pet, sweetie,” Cordy answered with deceptive sugar in her tone. She leaned forward and gracefully accepted Willow’s offer of food. In another time and place, she would have scornfully dismissed such a patronizing gesture on the vampire’s part--if she still valued pride more than staying alive. Eyes still on Willow as her lips slipped off the fork, Cordy was startled to spot lusty possessiveness flaring in the redhead’s bright green depths. Lust was something she had often seen in the eyes of countless boys; such salacious, objectifying gazes. In some cases, the gaze was blindingly, stupidly worshipful, caught up in some ideal construct of her. But Willow’s eyes were like Xander’s at his most unguarded. They seemed to really see her; see her and know her; weak, foolish, fearful Cordy and beautiful, mean, stupid queen Cordy. They really saw her and still...wanted what they saw.

The vampire Willow stared unblinkingly at Cordelia as the brunette attempted to chew what was in her mouth and also digest her sudden revelation. Willow hardly bothered to hide nor tone down her frankly appreciative gaze. The vampire then leaned back into Tara, turning her head so that her mouth met the dark blonde’s offered ear. She whispered into it and Cordelia watched as Tara’s wide mouth slipped up into that appealing half-grin she had. The witch raised heavy lidded eyes to Cordy, and the brunette reminded herself of how stunning Tara’s blue eyes could be sometimes, especially when they were the deep blue pools they were now. She wondered briefly what the heck Willow was saying to Tara, to make her look so thoughtfully at Cordelia like that.

“Maybe you should reconsider,” she heard Anya say in her direction, and Cordelia tore her attention from Tara’s distracting eyes to focus on her housemate. Anya was sipping her red and had apparently been watching the three of them quite avidly. “Willow knows how to keep a happy Pet. Sex with her can be quite enthusiastic, and therefore satisfying, from what I heard over the phone this evening.”

“Really,” Cordy slowly answered as her eyes returned to Tara, noting the bright reappearance of her blush and Willow’s huge, proud leer. Tara’s acute embarrassment got the best of her and she hid her face in Willow’s shoulder. “I don’t think I need to be Will’s little Pet to get some of that, Anya,” Cordelia declared.

“Oh Delia,” Willow pouted cutely at her, even as she ran her hand soothingly in Tara’s hair. “You tease.”

And thankfully, before Anya could answer with whether she agreed, or disagreed, with Cordelia’s cheeky comment, the main courses finally arrived.

* * *

“So you want to argue about how you want to keep everyone else safe? Well, how about my wanting you to be safe too,” Joyce retorted, arms folded. It was very unfair advantage, but Joyce was using the fact that she can tower over her poor wheelchair bound daughter in order to press her position.

“I will be safe,” Buffy protested, as she reached helpfully into a big wooden crate to dead lift a rather ugly looking statuette out of the packing straw. Ewww, her brain remarked, upon examining the squatty, naked, and entirely unattractive body of the statuette. I wonder if Mom will be able to sell these, Buffy grimaced to herself. I hope so, because you’re going to be paying for my new chair, guys. She put it carefully down next to its ugly brother.

It was after hours for her Mom’s gallery, so now she was helping her mother unpack some inventory shipments. “I’m coach Buffy. Ken’s mentor buddy. I’m practically a Watcher now,” the Slayer added brightly, hoping her mother would neglect to point out that Buffy did not wear glasses, nor read books on an hourly basis, much less daily. Or weekly.

“You mean you’ll be like Magic Johnson, retire and support the team,” Joyce remarked.

“Ew, Mom, you make me sound like I had a sexual indiscretion,” Buffy grimaced.

“I like Magic, he’s doing wonders for his community. I understand what you’re trying to tell me, honey, but I don’t think running around with something that looks vaguely like a flute is what a Slayer coach should be doing.”

“What? How’d? I hid that!” Buffy exclaimed, nearly dropping the third ugly statuette. Joyce reached down and helped Buffy settle it to the floor.

“And I made your bed this morning, silly. It slipped out of the mattress. I deal with tribal art and artifacts, I know an Amazonian blow gun, even a shortened one, when I see one.” Joyce threw up her hands and finally sighed. She flopped back into her office chair. “God, I hate your life.”

Buffy sighed too, and felt that familiar contrite feeling, whenever her Slayer life made Mom unhappy. There were lots and lots of times when she hated it too.

So do like Mom really wants, one side of her brain urged. Retire for real and have that wedding and kids and happy, long life that she hopes for you. Buffy allowed the other half of her brain--the ‘Dark’ half--to have its rebuttal. In typical Slayer fashion, it ended the debate by rising up and merely staking the ‘Good’ side of her brain.

“It’s just so hard to sit at home,” she finally confessed. “I need to--” Kill. “I need to help. I can help.”

Joyce stared at her daughter, her blue eyes expressing every known fear and concern--anger and frustration--she had tried not to feel, practically every night since learning of Buffy’s calling. I’m going to need a bubble bath tonight, she finally thought wearily to herself. A nice, long bubble bath, and a very good bottle of wine.

“Coach Buffy,” Joyce emphasized to her daughter. “Not Warrior Buffy.”

“Coach Buffy,” her daughter too readily agreed. “I won’t do anything Giles won’t do,” she assured with conviction.

Joyce stared at her daughter. Yeah, right.

* * *

Anya managed to swallow her food this time, before speaking.

“If you think it’s curare, then they obviously intend to assassinate Willow,” Anya declared.

“W-W-Willow says it’s fine,” Tara hurriedly stammered, wishing Anya had not brought the subject up. The former demon was voicing the blonde witch’s exact, personal fear, after seeing the names of the two plant ingredients. She glanced nervously at Willow beside her, who seemed to be ignoring the conversation and was lazily petting Tara’s hair. “S-She’ll take care of it, we don’t have to worry.”

“A homemade paralytic drug, an easy to conceal blow gun weapon,” Anya added, not bothering to finish her sentence as she shrugged. She chewed another forkful of ravioli. “As long as they’re not aiming it at me, or my business partner. If they were allowed to carry tranquilizer rifles, it would certainly be an easier job of slaying for them. I understand that we ‘children’--” Anya emphasized with one hand making the ‘quote’ mark in the air. “Are not allowed to carry weapons in public, but when a girl runs out of milk for her hot chocolate, which she desperately needs for its ‘that time of month’ healing qualities, why shouldn’t she carry an ax to the grocery store? It was night, and it was a small ax!”

“Next time, try a hammer,” Tara suggested. “A small hammer.”

“What’s this now? The Slayers came into the shop to try to buy what?” Cordelia interrupted, attempting to backtrack this weird conversation, which had lost her the moment Anya had begun speaking. She wasn’t sure what was making Tara look worried, even though Willow didn’t seem to be that concerned at all. The vampire actually had her cool, lidded eyed attention elsewhere.

That cute guy on the far side, but just a little behind my shoulder, Cordy guessed. Jerk, the brunette mentally added, having already concluded, via the eyes in the back of her head (pretend ones, not possible real ones, as this was the Hellmouth), that his staring attention equaled creep factor in the Queen’s book. Cordy dismissed the guy and double focused her own attention to what Anya was rapidly relating.

Handsome devil, Willow assessed idly, as the newly arrived vampire seated across the restaurant floor trailed his appreciative, dark eyes from Anya, to Kitten, then rested for quite a while on Delia’s profile. He thinks because I have three human women at my table, I might feel generous and ‘lend’ him one, she silently concluded. Willow’s hand continued to pet and play with Kitten’s hair as her witch ate, and the handsome vampire finally met her green eyes.

Gorgeous, aristocratic, good looks. The man was quite drop dead handsome; a pedigreed beauty, certainly. Willow was surprised that Delia had not given the male a second glance, as such a ‘catch’, in the past, would have been right up her Chase alley. Instead, Miss Chase had a serious, concentrated look upon her face, and seemed focused on what Anya was nattering on about. Willow remembered that look of Delia’s; she’d only allow it to appear on her model perfect face when she was studying, or contemplating something as vital as choosing the correct eye shadow to complement her clothes. The male across the restaurant floor gave a sly grin. He lightly touched his face, at the well cut cheekbone.

Pretty, he mouthed at Willow. He was referring to the glamoured bruise on Kitten’s face.

“Delia,” Willow suddenly said. “Your lips need touching up,” she remarked. She made the tone of her soft voice sound just this side of slightly reproachful. Delia actually gasped and one of her perfectly tanned hands shot to her lips. Someone’s treated herself to the tanning salon, Willow observed smugly, once again appreciating Delia’s lovely skin shade.

Cordelia, for her part, could not believe that during the main course she had not done the required ‘bathroom break’. If her lips needed touching up now, she was off her own ‘lipstick reapply schedule’ by ten minutes. She stood up.

“Anya, come with me,” she demanded of the blonde ex-demon, who was in mid-forkful.

“Kitten, go with,” Willow encouraged, and when she looked at her Kitten she saw her witch glance warily at the male vampire seated across the way. She must have seen his message, Willow snarled to herself angrily. The redhead kept her tone light. “Delia is used to having an entourage to the ladies room,” she added playfully.

Kitten smiled at her, and slid willingly from the booth to join Anya and an impatient Delia. Once her girls were out of sight, Willow smiled at the watching male and casually motioned him over. He got up and approached, an affected nonchalance to his slow stride and a cool arrogance to his well dressed bearing.

How St. Tropez, Willow mentally sneered, referring to one of the more chic, jet set beach spots of Provence.

“Lovely pets,” he remarked, as he stood before Willow’s table. “I am Juan.” He smoothly accepted Willow’s offered hand, and kissed it. “I am merely passing through town. On my way to San Paolo. Would you care to join me, beautiful one?”

He is half my age, Willow surmised, as Juan stared with a vampire’s unblinking charm into her eyes. That’s why he’s so stupid.

“Juan, I am Willow,” the redhead finally replied charmingly. “And I am Master of this town,” she remarked, looking up at Juan with just the slightest pout, as if he had disappointed her. To the younger vampire’s credit, his handsome eyes widened in disbelieving fear. Oh Juan, Willow mentally chastised. Such a faux pas you have made.

“So I’m sure you’ll understand, my beautiful man,” she added breathlessly. “Why I have to do this.” And Willow suddenly slid down in her seat and shot her leg up beneath the table. The patrons of the second floor of Giano’s watched with avid interest as Juan suddenly leapt two feet into the air, Willow’s foot firmly planted between his legs.

“GHAWW,” he exhaled, as he slammed back down, cheek first, into Willow’s table. Spittle flew from his lips as he clutched desperately between his legs. He was cross eyed.

Willow quietly drained her wine glass and set it down near Juan’s head. He continued to exhale desperately.

“Coveting a Master’s Pet....how crude of you,” she chastised. She lifted the young vampire’s head up by the hair. The creak of chairs and upholstery could be heard as everyone on the second floor leaned in to watch what would happen next.

“And your face was so pretty, Juan,” Willow added forlornly. With a vicious thrust of her arm, she rammed Juan’s face down into her wine glass, shattering it.

Anya thought she heard something happening outside as she checked the fall of her dress in the restroom suite’s three sided mirror. She went to peek out the ladies’ room door. Cordy absentmindedly noted Anya’s move to the exit. She checked the shape of her lips in the mirror, one more time. When she heard Anya gasp loudly and then disappear, Cordy had to race Tara out the door to find out what was the matter.

They stopped beside Anya, who was standing behind the potted palms, watching their table. A man, obviously in great agony and with the right side of his face dripping blood, was being lifted quickly from their table. Several servers proceeded to clear the table off as the injured man and his escorts disappeared through the serving entrance. Willow sat sprawled upon the red upholstery, smoking a fresh cigarette.

“Did Willow just...hurt him?” the brunette asked stiffly, as she watched the casually smoking redhead. The servers were replacing the white table cloth. Anya nodded, and Tara only worried her bottom lip. “Because he was staring at us?”

“Oh yes,” Anya affirmed. “He wouldn’t have stared if he only let himself suspect that she was the Master, but no. Quite foolish,” she concluded. The table now freshly laid out with new water glasses, and Anya’s wine and Willow’s blood having hurriedly been replaced, the ex-demon finally made a move to return to the table.

“What if he had been someone I liked?” Cordy demanded, as she followed Anya. “That’s not a typical ‘Master’ reaction, is it?”

“Just vampires,” she heard Tara distractedly say beside her. “Not human boys.”

“Yes, only to vampires,” Anya affirmed, and Willow rose from her seat to greet them. “I didn’t get to finish that plate,” Anya then complained to Willow. The vampire reached over to take Tara’s hand and lead her into the booth to sit by her again. Anya slid in next to Tara, and Cordy, a little slowly, returned to her seat beside Willow.

“I apologize,” Willow answered simply, her smirk quite serene. She took a drag on her cigarette and then blew up into the restaurant air. Her half closed, green eyes slid easily from Anya, to Tara, and then to Cordelia.

“That shade suits you, Delia,” Willow said softly, and raised the sweet smelling cigarette to her lips once more. Before Cordelia could think of an answer, Willow returned her attention to the rest of the table.

“Dessert?” she asked with a smile.

Anya eagerly picked up the dessert menu. Willow slid her eyes to Cordelia again.

“Dessert, Delia?” she asked, watching her. Cordelia had the instinctive feeling she was not meant to say ‘no’. She did something she never would do when someone’s attention was on her; she broke eye contact and looked at someone else--Tara.

Tara was staring rather blankly at the spot on the new table cloth where that young man’s mangled face had been.

“I’ll have whatever Tara’s having,” Cordelia finally answered.

* * *

“That was no fun,” Ken complained. Harm scowled at her second oldest minion. Ken could be such a cry baby. “I still want them dead.”

They were standing watching the Main Street nightlife, two unconscious humans slumped in the alley behind them. Harmony was taking her first two kids out to learn the hunting technique of how not to drain a victim dry. If she didn’t succeed in training all her kids, Cordy would kick them out of Chase mansion, and Willow would certainly dust their loser behinds, Lieutenant Harm included. Harmony decided to stare out into the street and ignore Ken’s complaints.

“Troy’s doing really well,” she merely said. Her boy Troy grinned beside her, his dark boyish looks brightening into that sexy charm that almost made him resemble Tom Cruise. Troy was actually taking to the whole seduction, no-killing thing really well. Harm’s attempt at reverse psychology worked on Ken. He growled darkly on the other side of Harm.

“I like it,” Troy declared, further igniting Ken’s jealous ire. “It’s cool. I got the power of death, and they know it. They get so turned on while I’m sucking on them, they start to want it. My power. But I’m like denying it.” Ken quit growling to try to digest what his minion brother was saying. “Now I’m thinking,” Troy continued. “I can keep revisiting the same prey I’ve been sucking on. They’ll want more. I’ll even fuck them. They’ll be my slaves.” Harm smiled. Troy really knew how to think. He was, besides perhaps Barry, her most adaptable minion.

“I’m gonna go practice more,” Ken suddenly declared, and moved into the street.

“Take your hunt a street over!” Harm barked as she followed her now determined boy. “K-Slayer’s probably due to come back down this street,” she added, and kept her wary senses open for the Robo Slayer.

* * *

“What do you think she’s doing?” Buffy asked. “Cordy says she wants to reopen the Bronze as a club, and now she buys the Magic Box too. What is that all about? Why own stuff? How does this fit into taking over the town and terrorizing the living?”

“You don’t know if she wants to take over the town,” Angel replied, slowly moving Buffy’s paralyzed legs through its exercises. He’s so gentle, Buffy thought, watching him from where she lay on her living room floor. He tries so hard.

Kendra had long since disappeared to patrol after dinner, and Angel had finally braved an appearance at the Summers’ front door. Buffy was just glad that Mom was civil--which she always was, of course. Angel, however, always seemed to look constipated in Mom’s presence, for whatever private reason.

“Okay then, think like a Master vampire, why would you do what she’s doing?” Buffy tried. She knew that was pushing it; Angel did not like to think about, much less recall, anything that had to do with his very evil vampire past. However, Willow was an issue they really needed to figure out, so Angel’s intimate understanding was vital.

Angel continued to move Buffy’s legs through the motions the physical therapist had taught him and Kendra. After a while, the blonde Slayer wondered if she had pushed him too far.

“I’d do all that to be respectable,” Angel finally said. Buffy’s hazel eyes grew wide, utterly incredulous. Did he say, ‘respectable’? That, and the word ‘evil’ didn’t exactly a synonym make. Hey! she thought excitedly to herself. She used ‘synonym’ correctly! Now if only she would remember that so she could get it right on her SATs.

Angel’s dark eyes caught hers. “I know that sounds strange, but demons that like to stick around in comfort for a long time put down roots, so to speak. Not all of them are into killing sprees and...making trouble. Like how certain human criminals exist in yo--in our world. They remain there in the dark world, doing their dark business. It’s...” Angel raised his eyebrows, as if to shrug. “It’s like they mind their own business. Until you cross them.”

“Like the mafia?” Buffy frowned. Gee, Mom’s analogy was right, the blonde Slayer thought to herself. But no matter how low key other mafia’ish vamp groups may be in other cities, on the Hellmouth, a Slayer can be certain a powerful vamp wasn’t going to just settle with happily selling magic supplies or hosting disco nights. Willow might not be bent on enslaving the town right now, but low key evil was still evil. “She’s still bad though,” she determined.

“Yes,” Angel agreed quietly, moving Buffy’s legs into a different set of exercises. Whatever further thoughts he had about his grandchilde, Angel did not speak them, his brooding eyes giving nothing away. Buffy watched him a while, content to just lay on Mom’s yoga mat. She couldn’t contribute anything to the exercise except watch.

“Why won’t you go talk to her again, like Giles suggested?” she asked softly. She watched Angel’s deep, brown eyes grow even darker. “You and he seem all for this, semi, ‘truce’ thing, but you haven’t exactly volunteered to help with it. We can’t even try it unless someone makes a move, and you’re our best way to approaching her, Angel.”

Angel gently laid Buffy’s legs down on the mat, and straightened them out. His large hands smoothed down the soft fabric of the sweat pants she wore. His actions looked so tender, and Buffy wished she could actually feel the gentle press of his hands. When he finally spoke, it was strained.

“I can’t just talk to her,” he revealed, the words obviously causing him pain. “Vampire to vampire, I’d have to take on the role...again. I’d have to choose, and I don’t want the family I left. I want to be here. With your family.

“With you,” he finally added softly, his dark eyes intense.

“Oh Angel,” Buffy whispered. She held out her arms.

In the dining area, Joyce rolled her eyes and listened intently for a little longer, then leaned back into the chair she was nearly tipping over. She returned her attention to the gallery paperwork she had spread out on the dining table. Great, Joyce allowed herself to briefly complain, before setting the ‘Angel’ problem on a back burner in her mind. A 240 year old vampire and her baby girl. Just great.

* * *

Willow rifled through Anya’s bureau, then perused the sparse countertop. She went to the closet and opened it. She and her girls had returned to Chase mansion after dinner. Delia immediately excused herself, while Kitten and Anya got busy in the kitchen, preparing the ex-demon for her first cooking lesson in order to familiarize the shop owner with appliances like the stove. The lesson: how to boil an egg. Willow decided to leave them be and do what was natural for a curious vampire. She went upstairs to the ‘human’ wing and thoroughly went about finding out every personal thing concerning the other two humans in her Family.

Willow ran a hand along Anya’s hung clothes. Her other hand fluttered over the presence of each pair of shoes, set like pretty soldiers on the closet’s walk in floor. What the ex-demon possessed in clothing only filled one fourth of her given closet space. Anya, as her under delicates drawer clearly indicated, was very fond of beautiful, and therefore quality items. There were some modest choices of underwear beneath the fine lace and satin sets, but Willow suspected that they were remnants of Anya’s once very humble beginnings as a new human. The equally simple, practically drab clothing hung in the back of the closet also attested to that fact.

Like her prettier delicates, the rest of Anya’s clothes and shoes were very nice, but also very few. She invested well in her clothes but was utterly practical when it came to other possessions. The few books stacked by her bed were borrowed from the library, as were the vcr tapes. Her t.v. and vcr player were second hand, as was her radio. Even her copies of Cosmopolitan were library borrowed, although the newest issue, Willow suspected, belonged to Cordelia. But when it came to personal items, especially those a woman would appreciate and always enjoy, Anya made careful choices.

Her hairbrush, a restored, silver handled antique of possible art nouveau origin, was one such indulgence. The 1930’s crystal atomizer in her bathroom was another. The intricate lace doily adorning her nightstand was most definitely vintage and one that, when Willow dared to nibble on it, tasted on her tongue very much like Mummy’s true Victorian originals. Anya really liked beautiful things.

Willow pulled out the nightstand drawer and fished out the box that held that distinct scent of gun oil, which her little vampire nose had easily tracked. She opened it. A .38 revolver. Very practical. So was the modest cache of a passport book, several fake i.d.s (some of very questionable workmanship, Willow criticized), several credit cards (virgin accounts, Willow guessed), and a roll of cash. All the girl needed was an actual getaway car. And a possible out of state bolt hole.

Willow put back the items she found, shut the nightstand neatly, and as she made one more pass around Anya’s new room, lightly brushed her fingers over the ex-demon’s neatly laid pile of magic supply catalogues, inventory slips, and the legal pad containing, in Anya’s feminine hand, all her notes and analysis about marketing, product, and possible high selling seasons. Willow exited Anya’s room.

She sauntered easily down the hallway, and found Cordelia’s bedroom, the door left ajar. Before she entered, she stood a moment and assessed the sounds of the house.

Two heartbeats in the kitchen area; Anya’s and Kitten’s. Some violent, military video game was being played quite enthusiastically in the minions wing. Harm was not in the house. Willow ended her aural reconnaissance and moved to Delia’s doorway. The brunette was reclined atop her queen size bed, several old books strewn on the coverlet. She was intently reading one, that cute frown of concentration on her face. Willow grinned and glided silently into the room. If she were very quiet, she’d be able to poke around for quite a bit before Delia became aware of her presence.

“....the typical vampire ‘household’ appears to be as follows: the master, his possible mate, his childer...”

Cordelia made a derisive sound with her lips. God, like it wasn’t so apparent already that this book was written by some old geezer guy--hadn’t he heard of Darla?? Cordy sighed, and continued reading. Although she knew this stuff already--from the other book she had started this afternoon--she’d hoped that this one would talk a bit more about how vamps interacted with each other. Like, was face crushing the kind of public reaction Cordy should be expecting from now on?

“....his ‘minions’, those lesser vampires who exist only to serve the master, the possible addition of a human agent, his liaison to the human world, and perhaps an indulgent addition, meant as a plaything, the ‘Pet’, usually a human slave. This slave, often obtained against her will, is used for various vampiric pleasures of a most sinister sort, and is often, therefore, broken of will, spirit, and body in a very short amount of time. Such slaves, then, must be considered irreparably lost to human society, an unfortunate circumstance.”

Yikes, Cordelia mentally exclaimed. Remind me not to come to your rescue when you become some vamp’s man-bitch, buster.

“....several such vampire households then, consisting of one master, may exist in a large territorial area, especially one well populated with their food source, the human community. It is believed that such households, with their minor masters, may be referred to as ‘clans’. The larger the clan, the more powerful, and the more powerful that particular clan, the most likely that it is the ruling clan of the vampire society and territory it resides in....”

That’s not true, Cordy thought. Willow wasn’t a ‘clan’. Willow was just bad ass Willow. What did Anya call her? A ‘Black Magic Mama’. She didn’t have minions running out of her ears. Or childer. Or...mates. Her ‘household’ was pretty darn small, when one thought about it.

“God,” Cordy exhaled outloud. “This guy needs to be dragged into the twenty first century.” She looked down at the pile of books on her bed. She had been skipping around in her perusal, which was not good, but these books were really dry reading. Cordy could practically feel the need for moisturizer already. And eye drops. She was also getting something of a clue; she’ll end up reading these highly unentertaining books for what she can get out of them, but obviously no one had yet written a book that can explain Willow.

“Maybe I should read Anne Rice instead,” she muttered, looking through the chapter list one more time of Mr. ‘Let the slave die’. “At least there would be cute guys.”

“Yes, but you really shouldn’t, there are hardly any cute women,” Cordy heard Willow say.

Cordy shrieked, and tossed her outdated book into the air. There, knelt Willow on her bedroom floor, with both her hands deep inside her underwear drawer.

“WILLOW!!” Cordy yelled. “Get your hands out of my PANTIES!!”

Tara and Anya, below in the kitchen, paused in their shelling of hard boiled eggs, and stared at each other.

“Okay,” Willow pouted. She slowly pulled out her guilty hands but came away with a very skimpy, satin g-string. She held it up, admiring it.

“Victoria Secret!” she exclaimed in frank admiration, and not, Cordy angrily determined, with the kind of admiration a straight female might regard such underwear.

“Willow,” Cordy grated through clenched teeth. “What are you doing in my room?” The vampire, to the brunette’s indignation, closed her underwear drawer, only to open the top drawer, which held all her cosmetics--and Cordy had collected alot of cosmetics.

“Looking,” Willow merely said. Anya had only been human for over a year, Willow mused to herself. In Delia’s room was all the scattered clutter of a girl who had moved through her formative teen years. Delia had been packing; the boxes lining her large room’s floor were filled with items she obviously wished discarded. From clothes to knick knacks, Delia was in the process of shedding possessions, but not memories. All about the room, Willow could easily spot items that had been set aside for meaningful value alone, things mysteriously precious only to the brunette. The energies of her bedroom were of transformation; an old Delia being removed to make way for a new woman. At the very core, however, remained those things that made Delia constant and true.

Willow smiled to herself, as she idly counted the rich, loose pile of lipsticks rolling in their assigned subsection of the drawer. Delia, whether child or woman, was definitely constant in her passionate love of make up.

“Pretty,” Willow murmured, uncapping one expensive brand and admiring the gorgeous, red shade.

Cordelia sighed loudly on the bed. She just could not stay mad at Willow for long. The girl was a vampire after all, and if Will was so intent on snooping, better now when Cordy can watch her, rather than try to kick the redhead out, only to find the vampire back in her room later. Cordelia wasn’t dense; she already surmised that whatever Willow decided she wanted to do, she’ll do, even if it was something as pervy as check out her underwear drawer again.

“I’ve always wanted to give you a make over,” Cordy suddenly said, as she watched Willow pull out about five different lipsticks.

“You wanted to play with my face, Delia?” Willow smirked at her. The redhead was picking through lots of different shades of bright red, Cordy realized. Against her pale skin, they would look great, but the range Willow was assembling looked familiar somehow....

Then Cordy recalled Tara’s preferred lipstick colors, her rich, sensual reds. Of course.

“And your hair,” Cordelia added. “Always wanted to style your hair. And dress you up.” Willow giggled.

“Mummy liked to dress me up too,” she revealed, laying the lipsticks she had finally chosen, carefully on the bureau top. She shut the cosmetics drawer. “I used to dress like her. Now I prefer a more modern look.”

Cordelia didn’t answer. She was caught up in sudden visions, as she took in the slim lines of Willow’s body--so ideal for draping--and imagined her in all manner of soft, cut tops, slim skirts, fitted shirts, and clingy, scoop back dresses.....

Willow cocked her head and stared intently at Delia, who was staring right back, but obviously into the ‘outerspace’ Willow’s body currently occupied. The vampire recognized that particular look of Queen Dee’s; it was just as funny as her studious look, only because Delia hated when she had an expression on her face that revealed that she was more than just a pretty face. Sometimes when Delia was voraciously flipping through her latest Vogue or Elle in the school library, supposedly helping with the research, she would stop gazing at the fashion pictures and just look up and....stare.

At Buffy, at Amy, and then, on more than one occasion, at her.

“She’s mentally dressing you, Will,” Xander had helpfully whispered to the redhead, when Willow had become far too agitated by his girlfriend’s stupid ‘zone’ mode. Willow had thought her best friend was pulling her leg, until Delia began perusing GQ, and then did her ‘zone stare’ on Xander.

Willow smiled. She turned to Delia’s bureau and tested the small, locked drawer that was certain to contain the ‘important’ stuff. Delia could remain in her ‘zone’ for quite a while--Willow would look through the brunette’s real secrets and then check out what kind of strong smelling gun was beneath Delia’s bed.

“Willow,” she heard her witch say, from the bedroom doorway.

Eep, thought Willow’s brain. She let go of the locked drawer’s handle. Her Kitten was leaning against the door frame, smiling. Anya stepped past her girl, carrying a serving tray. Willow smelled eggs, paprika, dijon, and a dash of vinegar. Ooo, deviled eggs!

“Um,” Kitten said, bringing a hand up to tuck a lock of honeyed hair behind an ear. “Anya and I heard Cordelia scream earlier.”

“That was quite a while ago, Kitten,” Willow admitted, wide eyed. She glanced briefly at Anya, who quickly passed by with her tray and went directly to Delia on her bed. Willow heard Delia exclaim over the eggs, while Anya proudly announced that she had helped make them. Just because she was a vampire didn’t mean she couldn’t eat a deviled egg too, Willow pouted to herself.

“Were, were your hands really in Cordelia’s panties, Willow?” she heard her witch ask ingenuously, and Willow’s attention snapped from eggs to her Kitten’s focused regard. Willow opened her mouth--

“And I hadn’t given you permission?” Kitten added, still staring intently at the vampire. The corner of her beautiful mouth crept up, as she tried not to grin. Willow’s mouth worked, unable to answer the question. She looked quickly back at Delia and Anya, who both sat on the bedspread, each with an egg half held to their open mouths. They stared wide eyed, back at the redhead.

Oh, crap, Willow thought.

* * *

‘Family Relations, II’


Buffy and her Slayer group never really made it a habit to ask Joyce for her opinions or thoughts about the things they would fight, therefore she stopped trying to share them. Buffy had asked why her mother didn’t tell her about Cordelia’s decision, though. Frankly, the night Joyce and the brunette had dinner with Willow, Cordelia had still been mentally entangled in trying to figure it all out for herself. Joyce had felt the young woman could have gone either way, at that time. And besides, such a decision really was personal and up to Cordelia to share herself.

Buffy, of course, did not exactly keep on topic long enough for Joyce to explain all that to her.

Joyce leaned back into her bath pillow and tried to relax and enjoy her bubbles. Dawn was sleeping over at a friend’s, and Angel had helpfully carried Buffy up for her bed time. Joyce didn’t stick around to see him out; she had a date with luxuriously hot, steamy water, Sinatra, and a bottle of fruity red. Small talking with the noble, yet depressing, big guy wasn’t worth skimping on her relaxing time. She poured herself another glass of wine and listened to Frank’s smooth, knowing tones practically have sex with the steamy air.

Joyce understood Buffy’s obvious upset at losing Cordelia and Anya’s loyalty to her latest ‘arch enemy’, the vampire Willow. First, her daughter had lost her own two best friends, then her own legs, and now this. Although the former cheerleader and the shop manager--shop owner, Joyce corrected herself--hadn’t really been her daughter’s close friends, losing them had still hurt Buffy.

Joyce remembered vampire Willow’s receptive and accommodating nature at that dinner. Cordelia was young but she obviously had the social experience to recognize facades and wouldn’t easily fall for such charm--unless she wanted to. Cordelia was taking a leap of faith--or leap of denial--and Joyce wished her all luck. Anya, Joyce did not know that well, except that she did know the young girl was quite shrewd, business-wise. The Magic Box had noticeably flourished under Anya’s management. Frankly, if Willow had offered to take on half the responsibility of her gallery, especially now that Buffy was disabled--

Whoa whoa whoa whoa, Joyce, she mentally exclaimed to herself. Stop right there. Buffy had just lost friends and perceives herself as having lost two more allies. Entertaining tempting business opportunity scenarios, no matter how fanciful--because she really doubted Willow would be interested in her gallery--was not going to help this emotionally charged issue.

Stupid Angel, Joyce griped. If only he and Giles would get this darn proposal of a possible truce going. Then Buffy could stop fixating and they could finally insure the co-operation of a certain some-pire. A some-pire who was fast becoming a very legitimate force in town. And rich, too.

Joyce set aside her empty wine glass, picked up her Shirley Maclaine book, and lost herself in a lurid story about the Rat Pack, easily pushing away anymore concerns about the sober, soap drama of her own Hellmouth life. Exercising her coping indulgences was far better for her mental health than dwelling on the worrisome antagonism that was growing between two very powerful, easily volatile, young girls.

* * *

Willow laid flopped on her side on Delia’s thickly carpeted bedroom floor and sulked.

“She’s just like a ragdoll, isn’t she?” Delia pointed out to everyone. “She was always like that, since she was little. She’d look like she was collapsing when she sat down on a chair or on the sofa. It’s like she never cared where she landed.”

“I think it’s cute,” Willow heard Kitten say, from where she stood above her. Her witch’s bare foot lightly toed along the vampire’s pants leg. When did Kitten take off her sandals? “It’s, it’s a different kind of grace. It’s so unself-conscious.” Kitten’s voice was warmly fond, and Willow had to fight to keep her eyes closed and her mouth unsmiley. She was still sulking.

After Kitten’s little joke about ‘permission’, Delia and Anya had teased the vampire mercilessly. Actually, they were so relentless in their own witty observations concerning her and Kitten’s relationship, Willow finally decided to just collapse on the floor and ignore everyone. Not a typical vampire reaction, Willow had to personally admit, where throat crushing and bone breaking would be expected--and justified, by vampire terms. But secretly, she rather enjoyed the attention. As long as Delia kept on the soft side of her mean streak and Anya did not say something too shocking to Kitten, Willow was happy to play the injured party.

“Willow, will you get up already. You can have the Shiseido if that’ll make you feel better,” Delia chided, referring to the quality lipstick she had noticed the vampire admiring earlier.

“I was going to take it anyway,” Willow stated with a pout, eyes still closed. She felt Kitten’s warm presence kneel beside her.

“Oh, now this is nice,” the vampire heard Anya suddenly exclaim, accompanied by the distinct sound of a magazine’s slick page being turned.

“Oh, faux alligator. That’s something that’ll definitely not last in the closet for next winter,” Delia’s voice criticized.

Willow felt Kitten’s fingers soothe through her hair. Despite her commitment to a sulkfest--that was rapidly losing its value now that Delia and Anya had moved their attention from vampire baiting to glossy fashion pictures--the redhead could not help the grin that curled her lips.

Tara ran her fingers through Willow’s silky hair and reveled in the soft sensation. It was something she rarely felt free to do in the presence of others, even in front of Dru. With her vampire collapsing--so funnily--on Cordelia’s bedroom floor like she did, Tara thought it a good opportunity to take advantage of this unMaster-like moment and touch Willow the way she often desired to touch her. With quiet satisfaction, Tara petted Willow.

She felt her lover finally move her head in her hand. Green eyes twinkled.

“Not mad anymore?” Tara asked softly, as she smiled down at Willow. The vampire gave a little shrug.

“I don’t need permission to touch Delia’s panties,” Willow announced in her girlish, small voice, defiance in the arrogant, little tones. Tara grinned. “‘Cept maybe when she’s in ‘em,” the vampire allowed, grinning back.

Tara’s fingers lightly tickled her vampire’s ear, and Willow giggled. She knew Willow had a physical attraction for the tall brunette. They had talked about it a little, and at least the vampire was honest about it and did not try to hide it. Tara had to admit, she had admired the stunning young woman too. Cordelia had that kind of face and body that was stare-worthy, and not only that, a charismatic bearing that was deserving of second looks.

“She’s tempting, isn’t she, Kitten,” Willow had whispered in her ear at dinner, making her heart pound. “Untouchable, lickable Queen.” Tara had smiled at that. “All bravado and soft, supple steel. deceptively hard, yet so vulnerable. Makes me want to chase her again. Hear her scream. Then taste all her hot, little tears, nibble each one away. Is it okay to look, Kitten?”

And Tara hadn’t answered, but instead looked thoughtfully at Cordelia herself, as if to see the young woman with her vampire’s own demon eyes. Such a fine line of co-existence it was, between predator and prey, and the darkly violent, desirous emotions vampires had for their potential victims. Fortunately, Anya had distracted Cordelia before the brunette could catch, and possibly question, Tara’s shiver at the dinner table, as she contemplated Willow’s words.

Tara really did not, at that time, nor now, want to analyze how she personally felt about the familiar, frightening emotions of being prey. She could however, give a little thought to her vampire’s ‘Delia’ attraction. As long as Willow only looked, she concluded, it was fine. They would talk about it more, later. Tara gently pushed the vampire from her side onto her back, her fingers reassuringly caressing Willow’s arm. As the redhead stared contentedly up at the blonde witch, her slender, dead chest suddenly filled, heaving an equally contented sigh.

“Happy vampire?” Tara whispered down at her, blue eyes deep and amused. What had happened several hours earlier--her vampire’s nightmare--was still fresh in Tara’s mind. She was intimately familiar with the torments of her own life experiences. If she could help in any way to continue to remove the old, lingering influences of that other person from Willow tonight, she would. Ensuring her vampire was happy was one way.

“Yes,” Willow breathed, looking sweetly, very much so.

Tara placed her palms to the carpet on either side of Willow’s shoulders and playfully loomed above her prone lover, letting her hair tickle Willow.

“Like you on your back,” Tara whispered, her smile lustful. Her smile grew, seeing Willow’s eyes grow round.

“Will you do stuff to me, tonight, Kitten?” she heard her vampire whisper suddenly, breathlessly. Tara stilled a moment, surprised. Willow had never put their physical intimacies in quite that way; ‘let’s have hot monkey sex!’, she might say, or declare, ‘naked snuggles now!’, or suggest, ‘time for squishy sounds!’. Willow could be vulgar, and quite enthusiastically so, but ‘do stuff to me’ sounded more like a deeper, more serious need beyond the pleasures of a loving coupling.

“Yes,” Tara simply assured, moving down to kiss Willow on her forehead. She had planned something, originally for tomorrow night, but perhaps...

“Do you feel up to some serious role play?” Tara asked softly.

Willow wriggled beneath her, obviously excited by the words.

“Oh oh,” her vampire whispered back. “Cowgirl Kitten?”

“Mm,” Tara smiled. “No. Someone different this time.”

Willow’s eyes got even wider, full of curiosity.

“I-It’s a little involved,” she then heard Kitten say, a little hesitancy showing. “There’s a surprise for you. And a little something for you to wear.”

Wee!!! Willow thought. Yes! Let’s play!

Willow reached up with both arms and brought Tara firmly down for appreciative kissage.

“Get a room, girls, but not my parents’,” Cordelia wryly suggested from her bed.

“Why should they get a room?” Anya questioned. She stared as Tara attempted to get up, but Willow’s superior strength kept the witch in her arms--and still kissing. “I want to know how lesbians interlock,” the former demon added. “Those sex manuals have such unattractively drawn pictures. It makes me think they are actually describing bad sex.”

“Anya honey, haven’t you heard of porn?” Cordelia suggested sweetly, as Tara finally pulled away from Willow.

“Of course!” the former demon bristled. “Don’t you think I’ve already tried to legally rent one with my fake i.d.? Tara could--”

“I’m still not going to rent one for you, Anya,” Tara interrupted firmly. She made her way around Cordelia’s bed to come to the former demon’s side and leaned down to give her a hug and kiss. “Those aren’t realistic anyway. And I’m not buying you any dirty magazines,” she added.

“You’re going now?” Anya asked, slightly forlorned. “Well I hope you have a very fun sex game with Willow tonight, with many orgasms.” Tara gave Cordelia a quick hug across the bed.

“You’re leaving too, Willow?” Cordy asked.

“I have to take care of something downstairs,” Willow admitted, now on her feet and picking up one of the lipsticks she had picked out. She shoved it into her tight back pocket. “Kitten, go ahead and take my car back. No walking in the dark for you.”

“I need a bit of time to get ready,” Tara murmured apologetically to her vampire as they kissed one more time. “Can you wait in the living area when you get home?”

“Okie doke,” Willow promised with a smile. She watched Kitten leave. Once Kitten was gone, the vampire’s slender hand idly reached out and flicked on Delia’s cd player. As ABBA’s ‘Dancing Queen’ filled the room (to Willow’s surprise--not that she had known Delia’s taste in music, anyway), both girls on the bed looked at her curiously.

“Do either of you need to go downstairs?” Willow asked. When they shook their heads, Willow smiled. “Good. You just stay up here for a while then. And keep the music on.”

“Why?--” Cordelia began.

“Good night, Willow,” Anya interrupted. She went back to looking at Cordy’s fashion magazine.

“Good night Anya,” Willow answered sweetly. “Good night, Delia.”

Delia, (quite attractively, to Willow’s appreciation), bit her lip in frustration. Then the brunette decided to let her curiosity go. “Good night, Willow,” she finally bade the vampire.

* * *

Tara found Willow’s leather coat draped over the bannister of the stairs’ landing. She fished out the Impala’s keys.

“Hey Tara,” Harmony greeted, with a rather intense look on her face, as she stood in Cordelia’s foyer. Two of her minions were with her. The darkhaired one had a respectful vacancy to his face, as Tara passed the group, but the blonde one stared.

“Hey Harmony,” The Pet softly returned with a smile, and she was out the door. Harm took in the sight of her boss’ long coat, folded across the bannister of the main staircase. She had already sensed Willow’s presence before stepping foot into the house. Then she heard music being played in Cordy’s room, the volume higher than how she knew her former best friend liked it.

Crap, the blonde vampire thought.

“Harmony,” Willow spoke to her, from the top of the stairs. The redhead merely stood, staring down at them.

“Go in,” Harm ordered the boys behind her. “Have everyone go to the big room.” In a few seconds she and Willow were the only ones remaining in the reception area. The redhead tripped easily down the stairs and came to a stop before the blonde vampire. She playfully reached forward and opened Harm’s new black leather car coat, the one she had knicked off one of her movie plex victims last night. Harm had already modified the coat’s lining to hold a pair of stakes, one under each arm.

“Nice,” Willow admired, noting the precise, even tightness of the stitches. Almost as good as her Kitten’s handiwork. “You know how to sew.”

“Home Ec, Will,” Harm supplied. “I can even sew you an oven mitt.”

Will grinned cutely at the blonde vampire, then gave Harm a pinch on her cheek.

“Don’t you worry,” she comforted. “Maybe I won’t kill any of them.” Willow turned from Harm and headed towards the minions wing. A grim mask fell over Harmony’s face as she followed her boss.

The minions were standing around in what looked like a former rec room. As soon as Willow entered they fell respectfully to their knees. Harm grabbed a large wood chair for her boss, and placed it before the minions. Willow tossed herself into it. She looked around the room pleasantly.

“Eyes up,” she said.

“There are two women in the rooms above,” Willow began without preamble, and casually studied her fingernails. She admired how trim and short they were. “Two human women. You are probably wondering to yourselves, ‘Why does she keep food in the house? Why can’t we eat them?’. There is only one answer to such questions: Those women are mine.”

Willow leaned on one of the armrests and cocked her head at the minions. “You will respect what is mine. You will serve them, please them, and when they ask you to jump, you will say, ‘How high?’. You will kill for them, and most of all, you will protect them, just as you protect my Kitten.

“They, in turn, protect my interests,” Willow continued, her body lounging casually in her chair as her bright eyes sharply took in the faces before her. “You kill for me. They don’t. They make money for me. You don’t. You have your job, and they have their job. This is the balance in my House. And you will respect that balance, won’t you.”

The voiced acquiecence of the minions was loud, abrupt, and immediate. Harm, from her silent, still position behind Willow, assessed her kids. Troy was alert and solemnly drinking in every word of Willow’s like she were his Jedi Master. Barry’s eyes gleamed with understanding. Doc Chen in the back was thoughtful but his expression was firmly intelligent. Elise just looked plain scared. Harm’s face shadowed and she steeled herself for the inevitable.

Willow smiled softly at the accommodating minions. “‘Yes’ is easy to say,” she remarked. “But blood gets the message across better.” She rested her chin in her hand to let those words sink in for her audience. The mood in the room quickly changed to dread. Willow watched more than one pair of eyes dart to Harmony behind her.

“That one,” Willow merely said, pointing without even looking. Harm saw who her Master indicated and her dead heart dropped.

“Shawn, over here,” Harm ordered, her voice cold and harsh. Her boy Shawn had on his typical stoic face throughout Willow’s speech; typical for him, but unfortunately it was a face that could easily be misunderstood as lacking understanding. Knowing Will, however, her boss had probably picked Shawn for an entirely different, and more symbolic reason.

Harm watched her strongest boy get up and walk over to the side of Will. Willow held out a hand to the blonde vampire, and without a word, Harm pulled out one of her stakes and gave it to her Master.

“I do this, only so you’ll understand,” the redhead said with a smile to the room.

One moment, Willow was in the chair, accepting the stake from Harm’s hand, the next second, the Master was up and Shawn was abruptly pulled from his feet and practically prone in the air. He slammed down with a huge, cracking sound as his back hit the floor, the entire room shuddering with the impact. Willow was above him, her small hand wrapped around the stake she had driven into Shawn’s chest.

Harm watched as if outside of herself. Her boy, to her deep shock, did not disintegrate. Instead, he lay, demon faced, staring wild eyed up at Willow. Slowly, his master pulled the stake out with a sick, sucking sound. Two inches over, perhaps, and she would have nailed his heart dead on.

“Ghh-Gr-GhGuh--” Shawn sputtered. The moment the stake popped out of his chest cavity, he clutched his spurting front, his large hands in macabre imitation of a lover holding his heart. He stared up at Willow like a dying admirer.

Willow offered the stake to his mouth, and Shawn dutifully forced his clenched teeth open to lick the wood clean.

Willow smiled serenely down at him, even as she pointed at her next victim.

“That one,” she said, indicating Ken.

As Troy dragged Shawn out of the way, Willow wasted no time in slamming a frightened Ken to the floor and staking him through the stomach--his actual stomach organ. Ken immediately threw up all the hard earned dinner he had just hunted, his stomach spurting the same from its new orifice. Willow, with her nose delicately wrinkling, tried to wipe her hands and her weapon on his shirt front.

Willow next pointed at Chuck, Harmony’s military boy. “That one,” she said again.

Chuck, she staked through a lung. Lying on the slick, bloodied floor, Chuck--newly risen and only a few days old--drew on intestinal fortitude and only coughed up blood once. Go Marine.

“That one,” Willow merely said, as Troy helpfully dragged Chuck away. The minion Willow pointed at shrank piteously from the gesture.

“ELISE!” Harm snapped. The girl looked petrified. Before Harm could step forward, Barry took firm hold of the girl minion, trying to whisper in her ear. He also tried to mask his attempt to help Elise approach the Master, when he was practically carrying the girl to her.

“Oh, now, tsk,” Willow softly chastised, as Elise was placed, kneeling and sobbing before her. The little minion stared at nothing but the bloodied stake in her hand. “Your brothers could look me in the eye. Now look up.”

Tears streaked from Elise’s frightened, blue eyes as she miserably did as asked. Willow’s slender arm suddenly whipped around the girl, crushing her to her body. Elise shrieked.

In a grotesque sense of consideration, Willow carefully kept her blood stained hand away from Elise, even as her arm held her tight.

“Oh shhhhh,” Willow hushed, her cheek pressed to the girl’s own wet cheek. “There, there, little thing,” Willow soothed, rocking the girl. The redhead raised the blood stained stake in her other, gory hand, for Elise to see. “Now, at some point, someone’s going to try to stake you,” Willow explained softly. “Don’t you want to know what it feels like?”

Elise’s alarmed sobs increased at the words.

She was a very pretty little thing, Willow admired. Harm had gotten the girl’s dark hair cut; the short pixie locks were soft against Willow’s face and the cute, feminine scent of her shampoo was adorable. There was a definite demon presence in this little gamine, but the strong imprint of the girl’s one time human innocence continued to radiate from her very being. The little thing had been a good, uncorrupted soul, and here was its ghost, still lingering around the fledge the redhead carefully, yet firmly held prisoner. A fledge who could still genuinely cry. Willow could no longer resist the scent of the sweet tears. She kissed some away. Then she hungrily sought out Elise’s mouth.

As she kissed the girl minion, her hand raised the stake.

To everyone’s shock, Elise hands shot out to desperately grab her Master’s stake hand.

The two froze in the chair; Master and minion. Despite being locked in a kiss, the tension could be seen in the Master’s slender arm as Elise’s own slim limbs trembled to hold it back.

Willow tore her mouth away from the girl.

“AHAHaHa!!” She laughed out loud, delighted. It was obvious Elise’s reaction had surprised her, and somehow even pleased her. A desperate fire of defiance was actually flaring in the fledge’s blue eyes, and Willow wanted to test that cute resolve. She pressed her arm down, and Elise tearfully pressed back with all her might.

“Silly little thing!” Willow teased. “Do you really think you can stop me from killing you?” Enjoying the game, Willow held the minion firmly in her grip and pressed her bloodied stake arm further. Frantically, Elise pushed her body back into the limb holding her immobile while her own arms fought hard against the stake’s slow descent. A desperate sound broke from her lips as the sharp wood slowly pierced her chest through her cotton dress. She continued to struggle against her Master’s hand.

Master’s mouth moved down to playfully nip at Elise’s ear. The girl sobbed angrily, blood beginning to stain the front of her dress.

“Warriors...killers, accept death, Little Thing,” her Master whispered to her. “I am Master, your life is mine. But you can’t serve me like that, can you, little one? You bad, disobedient child, you want to survive.”

“AH--” Elise cried painfully, as the wood slowly entered her chest. Her hands remained over the Master’s; weak now, shaking.

“Withholding my right like that,” Willow softly admonished into her ear. “It’s so selfish of you, little girl.”

And Willow held her, close, and made sure her stake penetrated slowly. She stared avidly into wide, wet eyes and felt the little thing’s silly, futile grip on her hand. She carefully forced the point directly into the girl’s undead, virgin heart, piercing it lightly.

Then quickly withdrew the stake, and thrust the little minion away from her, into the arms of the large male who had helped placed the girl before Willow in the first place.

As the shuddering girl clutched at the bleeding hole in her chest, Willow pensively licked the stake’s point.

“Never forget,” She declared softly to the room, though her cold, bright eyes were focused on frightened, agonized blue. “You are all mine.”

* * *

‘Lovers’

(An Interlude)


Willow landed on her head one more time, and tumbled.

She was walking on her hands in her living area, waiting for Kitten, who was moving quietly and mysteriously about upstairs. Willow had too much energy now; that’s what happens when one doesn’t kill as intended. The little minion girl, by her rash, bold action of actually trying to defend herself, had at least saved Willow the trouble of ridding her clothes of the little thing’s dust. The redhead only had to scrub the blood off her hands and under her fingernails, and then she ran home to Kitten and her ‘surprise’.

Willow managed to walk the length of her living area on her hands and then tumbled again. She looked closely at her fingernails. Yep, not a speck of blood. Unfortunately, she couldn’t say the same for her slightly splattered silk shirt, and her pants, and her shoes.

Willow debated one more time whether she should just bring herself to Kitten’s door in the buff, once her witch called her up. She really had to remember to store an extra set of clothes downstairs.

A piece of paper suddenly fluttered down the stairs.

Ecstatic, Willow jumped up and ran with vampiric speed to snatch the paper before it even reached the bottom. She looked at it eagerly. The paper was thick, and of parchment quality. In Kitten’s womanly cursive writing, the inked words read:

My Room

Willow bound up the steps. She paused when she saw an identical piece of parchment at the top of the stairs.

Strip

Willow sat down on the steps and did so quickly, glad to get rid of her bloodstained clothes, and folded them into a neat pile at the top of the stairs. Now nude, she walked more slowly down the hall. She already spotted the next paper. She knelt to read it:

You are a Slave for Sale

Willow shivered. Ooo, kinky game! She gathered up the paper. She saw the next piece of paper and knelt to read it too:

I am a Lady of My House

Willow felt the thrill up her back again. Kitten had given her a title now. She wondered what sort of ‘House’ it referred to. Willow edged closer to Kitten’s room, whose door was ajar. Soft, string music lilted gently from the opening. The vampire could scent the sensual, incense presence of cedar wood, sandalwood, and jasmine. Willow knelt silently to read the last leaf of paper, laid atop a thin wood board. The wood was strung with cord, like a sign:

Write Your Name. Wear the Sign. Offer Yourself to Me.

A little light bulb went off in Willow’s head. Spartacus! She was going to be the sexy Tony Curtis slave boy to Kitten’s!--

Okay, not Kitten’s creepy Laurence Olivier, Willow corrected, thinking that sounded entirely too blech-y. Change that thought to just Kitten’s sexy Roman Lady.

A small pot of black paint sat by the open door. Beside it lay a large brush. Carefully, Willow dipped the brush and printed her name in careful, black letters on the small thin board:

w i l l o w

She picked the small placard up, now bearing her name, and placed the cord around her neck. She carefully straightened the sign that hung down her chest. It rested just below her small breasts.

If this was the ‘little something’ Kitten had meant she would wear, it was certainly unique!

Feeling excitement and a rare sense of trepidation, Willow crept to the open door. She peeked inside, holding the door frame.

There was a beautiful, warm glow to the room, silent but for the gentle, musical sounds of strings. Kitten had changed her bedroom’s energy with the addition of diaphanous, red fabrics hung and draped strategically, and with the tossed presence of huge, silk covered pillows. Candles, everywhere, lit the room. Incense smoke rose lazily from a small, metal lamp. Kitten sat in a chair at her desk, dressed in a thin dressing gown Willow had never seen before; red, long, and silky. It parted to reveal Kitten’s bared, crossed legs. Her witch was turned away from the door, sipping meditatively from a delicate cup. Willow’s needless breath caught in her throat, admiring Kitten’s pale profile and the tumbled fall of rich, honeyed hair. Kitten finally gave the doorway her attention. Her blue eyes sparkled.

“Come in,” she beckoned.

Willow entered, uncharacteristically hesitant. Never had she been more aware of her naked state, and wearing only a silly sign, too. She walked far enough into the room to stop a few, respectful feet away from Kitten. She tried to stand still. It was like she had stepped into another place, the room so subtly transformed to her senses. If this was a different place--which was the purpose of this game, of course--then they were both definitely within certain roles, and Willow’s was so noticeably subservient. She looked almost anxiously at Kitten, whose blue eyes were liberally appraising her body. Feeling just a little out of sorts in such a new play situation, Willow actually had to fight the urge to not take her hands and demurely cover her red haired sex.

“For sale?” she heard Kitten ask finally, the twinkling, blue eyes meeting her green ones again.

“Yes Lady,” Willow answered right away. She fidgeted slightly, a hand straightening her sign as Kitten checked her out again.

“You may call me Lady Tara,” Lady bestowed.

“Yes, Lady Tara. Thank you Lady Tara,” Willow answered.

“Turn around,” her Lady ordered.

Willow did, and obediently stood still with hands clasped before her while she felt Lady Tara’s eyes on her butt.

“Full circle,” Lady requested. Willow did so, coming to a stop facing the mistress again.

“Who owned you before?” Lady asked.

“A Slayer,” Willow answered suddenly, truthfully. Anxiety filled her; she had no idea she was going to answer like that. Would this stop the game?

Apparently for Kitten, it didn’t matter. Her witch easily took the answer in stride.

“A bad Slayer,” Lady noted, staring at Willow intently.

“Very bad,” Willow whispered. She watched Lady uncross her legs and then lean upon her chair slightly, looking into Willow’s eyes.

“Would you like to be a slave in my House, little girl?” Lady asked softly. A shiver ran up Willow’s body, remembering how she had referred to the little girl minion in just that way only a short time before.

“Yes please, Lady Tara, I wanna be a slave in your House,” Willow pleaded in a small voice.

“How much are you then?” Lady asked with a smile, and Willow wanted to smile back, seeing the familiar half-grin.

“M’ free, Lady Tara,” Willow answered shyly, twining her fingers.

She watched Lady’s grin grow wider.

“I can pay that fee,” she said softly. With a gesture, Tara indicated that Willow kneel before her. The vampire eagerly did so.

“Take off your sign,” Lady requested, reaching for something on her desk. When she turned back to Willow, now bereft of her little sign, Tara held something gold in her fingers. She showed it to Willow. A small gold hoop--an earring.

Lady’s hand gently brushed back Willow’s hair from her ear. She carefully pushed the hoop through the ear lobe piercing.

“Goddess bless this new member to my House. Bless her, her name is Willow,” the vampire heard Tara murmur above her. The warm hand that brushed again through her hair then soothed down to cup her chin. Willow felt her face raised, Tara’s blue eyes admiring the ring.

“Now you belong to me,” she said.

* * *

Willow thought that maybe it was the pungent scents hanging thick in the air, or the soft music that set such a subtle, hypnotic tone, or maybe it was the new, sensual colors of the room...Willow had no idea how it happened, but the play they were engaged in somehow transformed into something more; something that drew Willow to Kitten like she truly were Lady, and Willow a mere, small slave needing a home. She was sinking into the soft, surreal energies of this game, and Willow did not mind it. She felt the weight of the new gold ring in her ear and let herself go.

Tara easily led an obedient Willow to the bath area, and into the hot, scented water prepared. Flowers floated on the surface of the steamy bath. Even the languid music was present in the room, and Willow’s curious mind tried not to question how that could be. She stepped into the hot bath and allowed Tara to submerge her fully. As she rose, Tara’s hands guiding her, Willow felt herself tingling from head to toe, pleasured heat seeping into her every skin surface. Tara submerged her again.

“All that exists is now,” Tara whispered above her, as Willow reemerged from the waters. Her fingers combed Willow’s heavy, wet locks from her face. “No past, no future. You are here, and you are mine.” Before Willow could open her eyes, she heard something being dipped, and then water was poured down her head.

“Who owns you now,” She heard Lady ask, as warmth streamed down her face.

“Lady Tara owns Willow now,” the vampire answered.

“Who owns you,” Lady asked again, warm water poured once more over her head.

“You do, Lady Tara owns me,” Willow answered.

“Whose slave are you,” Lady asked again.

“Yours, Lady, I’m yours,” Willow answered, nearly sputtering as water poured over her again. “I belong to you.”

And Willow didn’t care that perhaps it wasn’t permitted, but she quickly wiped at the wetness streaming down her eyes and looked up sincerely into Tara’s face.

* * *

Willow was beginning to feel a little heady, seduced into a subtly induced, drunken state. The incense in the sultry, glowing air intoxicated her with each unneeded inhale she took. The bath she now stepped out of had infused her skin with its beguiling scents. Tara softly rubbed down her warmed body with large, fluffy towels Willow had not seen before. Even the near silent, handheld dryer Tara used to gently dry her hair was new. Willow remained quiet and a little awed as Tara groomed her. She felt utterly cherished, but cherished in that way a beautiful, naked youth might feel when being readied as a bloody sacrifice to the scary gods.

She stood obediently--very sacrificial like--in the middle of the bath suite as Tara retrieve something hung upon the door. As Tara held the garment before her, Willow’s mouth formed a small ‘o’ in awe. It was a beautiful, near sheer, white tunic. Short, in a style reminiscent of the clothes youths of mythical, ancient Greece might wear. It had no trim and no sleeves, making the garment look light and almost ephemeral. Willow automatically lifted her arms.

Tara grinned at her eagerness. She placed the soft, thin tunic over Willow’s head and pulled it into place. She tied the dark gold cord that was its belt. The tunic was slit up all the way on either side of Willow’s body. The gathered, darted fabric easily followed the slim, feminine contours of her vampire’s lines, and its translucency hardly masked the presence of erect, little nipples beneath, nor the trimmed, red area between the legs. Willow looked down at herself and grew wet at just the simple sight of her clothed body looking so...available. She felt her Kitten’s fingers in her hair, and looked up.

Tara’s blue eyes were warm and dark with admiration and a smoldering passion. She held a red flower, a hibiscus bloom, with its impressive stamen, and carefully pushed it into Willow’s hair, behind the gold hooped ear.

“You are very beautiful,” she whispered, cupping Willow’s face and kissing her forehead. Her soft lips trailed down and kissed Willow’s nose, then her chin. Each slow contact of lips felt like blessings...benediction.

“You’re so beautiful, my slave,” she murmured, before capturing Willow’s mouth.

The kiss was passionate, hot, and opened mouthed, and Willow could feel all the encompassing heat and hunger of her mistress in that kiss. She melted beneath Kitten’s fire, her body weakening under the onslaught of such possessive lips. Her own mind had melted down already from the husky words Tara had spoken: ‘my slave’.

When Willow finally opened her heavy lidded eyes, her body clinging to her Kitten, she saw amused, darkened blues stare down at her.

“Come,” Tara merely said.

Her witch led her, not back to her room, but into Willow’s own bedroom, and as Willow obediently followed, she nearly gasped to see the difference. Like Kitten’s room, the atmosphere had been changed by draped reds and rich fabric, and by candles placed strategically to allow much of the room to remain in flickering shadow, thus changing the room’s very shape. The ambiance was dark, mysterious, its air tendriled with wisps of incense smoke. The shimmering, plucked sounds of that single, string instrument was now accompanied by a low, mesmerizing drum beat. Her large bed, the focal point of all the candlelight, looked almost like a sensual altar, complete with twisted, silk fabric, looped from the headboard into restraints.

I am being sacrificed, Willow mentally gulped. Maybe to Lady’s Goddesses. But what a way to go!!

“Hands behind your back,” she heard Tara quietly order.

The command made Willow even more wet. Without turning around, she obediently placed her arms behind her back, crossing the wrists. She felt them tied firmly together.

Tara walked slowly around her, her warm hand trailing from Willow’s bound wrists to her arm, then her shoulder. She looked only at Willow’s body, admiration in her eyes. When Tara came to a stop before Willow she idly caressed fingers where the swell of the vampire’s breasts peeped from the slit sides of the tunic. Willow suppressed her moan. She wasn’t sure if making noise was allowed.

“Who owns you,” she heard Lady murmur almost offhandedly, still watching the light travel of her fingers.

“You own me,” Willow gasped. “Lady owns Willow.”

“And I’m liking what’s mine,” Tara gave, her gaze and voice pleased as her fingers caressed down Willow’s sides and soothed along the smooth, bared angles of her hips. Willow’s wrists involuntarily worked against her bonds and she arched slightly at the teasing attention. The hard buds of her erect nipples pressed up against her tunic’s fabric. Willow watched her mistress’ blue eyes rise to her jutting little tits and appreciatively darken. Kitten stepped back.

“On your knees,” Tara softly ordered. She slid into the large armchair behind her, watching Willow earnestly fall to her knees and shuffle forward without being asked. Tara grinned, and decided to ignore her vampire’s small infraction. She swung a leg over an armrest, and flicked aside her red dressing gown, revealing her body.

Tara looked down, eyelashes dark against her cheeks, then glanced up, utterly coy. Her smile was knowing and suggestive. It was the most subtle demand of ‘go down on me’ Willow had ever seen. Her mouth opened to eagerly comply.

“Wait,” she suddenly heard above her.

Willow froze. She looked up desperately from her aborted mid-dive into the golden temple and saw Tara’s lustful, amused eyes. Her witch’s fingers went to Willow’s hair, plucking the flower.

“Spread your knees and lay back,” Lady Tara softly requested.

Willow did as asked, laying back far enough to touch the floor with her tied hands. With her chin to her chest, she could see Kitten lean forward from her chair and flick the skirt end of her tunic up, revealing her sex. Mistress then took the large flower in her hand and place it between the vampire’s wet, pussy lips. Willow felt the stem pushed inside her.

“Now that’s pretty,” she heard Kitten admire. “Think you can keep that there?”

“I d-don’t know, Lady Tara, it might pop out,” Willow truthfully whimpered, seeing the flower and its long stamen at attention between her legs.

“It’ll be fine,” Tara soothed, and sat back in the chair once more, replacing her leg over the armrest. She pulled back her robe to reveal her body again.

“Pleasure me,” she softly ordered, looking into Willow’s eyes.

Willow lifted herself up from the floor--mindful of the flower--and quickly got to work.

Tara arched, inhaling deeply as Willow’s tongue eagerly serviced her. She gripped the chair’s high back above her with both hands when Willow’s nose bumped up against her clit.

“S-Slower! Slower!” she gasped, Willow’s enthusiastic attention almost sending her over the edge far too quickly. The redhead’s tongue slowed in its in and out motion and Tara began to moan, flinging her other leg over the vampire’s shoulder, her toes stroking Willow’s bound hands. Willow tongue-fucked the temple entrance for a while, then eased into the tongue explorations and tongue delving techniques she did so well.

Perfect bliss was being between Kitten’s thighs, Willow had long since decided. Murder had its blissful moments. Gulping down hot, live blood was sometimes blissful. But if all a vampire did were only those things, the moments of bliss got rarer, and the joyful act of killing just beca