Part 8
Two days passed as spying eyes watched the human residents of the hotel ready a room fit for a king. “What do you think?” Holland Manners looked at the surveillance tape.
“Well, we know he hasn’t been there for a couple of days. We’ve tried to track him down on the streets with no luck,” Lindsay answered his superior.
“Maybe he’s dust and they’ve taken over the place. This,” Holland looked at his notes, “Charles Gunn is a formidable character. Maybe there has been a change in command.”
“No. Whatever they’re doing, its for him. He’ll be back,” Lindsay answered with complete confidence. “And we’ll be waiting.”
“And what of Mr. Chase? Has he been taken care of.”
“Mr. Chase is enjoying a relaxing stay at one of our finest establishments.”
“So we can use him? If we need him?”
“If it becomes necessary, yes. But I don’t think it will come to that.”
***
Two nights away from the hotel had not helped. If anything it had strengthened whatever he was feeling towards Cordelia. And the ever present thought that he would eventually have to let her go was driving him mad.
She was human, needed and deserved a human life. He knew that. He couldn’t tie her to him, keep her locked away. Although every predatory bone in his body told him that’s just what he needed to do.
But logic, or the small part of his brain that possessed such a gift, told him that even if he did those things, she would never return what he felt. Never lay awake as he had since her arrival, dreaming what it would be like to see her smile, to touch him with need and hunger in her eyes. Those things were not available to demons, monsters.
He would let her go, so she could grow into the woman she was meant to be. Set her free so that she could find happiness, companionship with someone who didn’t lurk in shadows or dream about doing things to her that would probably fill her with disgust. Let her go to meet some idiot that would never know how to treat her, protect her.
Anger rose and flamed in Angel’s mind at the thought, his strides down the dark street lengthening, his fists and jaws clenched.
Never look beyond her beautiful face, the lush curves of her body.
He punched a parking meter as he passed, bending the metal and sending change hopping to the concrete below.
He could picture it all now. She’d be some trophy wife, dusted off and taken out for corporate parties or drinks at the club. Angel suddenly pictured the guy, a puny human with no character and too many teeth. Their perfect house, their perfect life. His vainly manicured, tanned hands roaming her body with inexperience and haste.
Angel never slowed his stride as the next parking meter was simply ripped from its anchor and tossed to the opposite curb.
He wanted to leap to her balcony, lurk in the shadows, a viper among the blooms he had sent her. Waiting for the perfect moment to strike. He’d take her to her room. Show her what real ecstasy was. Make her compare any and every man that entered her life in the future to him. Ruin whatever intimacy she tried to experience by images of him taking her, making any other man seem inadequate, a pale comparison to what he could give her.
Spotting the hotel in front of him, Angel took his normal path, his feet falling silently to the concrete floor of her balcony. His senses were bombarded with the olfactory display by the blooms he had Wesley set out, making it difficult to catch on to her scent. He moved closer to the closed doors, his eyes seeing perfectly into the darkened room. He stilled, his eyes turning dark, menacing. She wasn’t there.
Panic shook him. He should have never trusted Gunn and Wesley to look after her. He should have pushed away his demon, his desires and stayed to protect her.
But just as he was about to crash through the doors, punish the friends who had failed him, he caught her scent, soft and light in the night air. His face turned upward and he leapt like a great cat to the floor above.
Cordelia lay inside, beyond the balcony, clothed in sweats and t-shirt, stretched across a bed he didn’t recognize. In a room he didn’t recognize. A few books littered the bed, his sketch book lay open, clutched in one of her hands.
Her mouth was slightly opened, her chest rising and falling with slow, silent breaths. She looked innocent, sexy, forbidden. So right sleeping peacefully in his room. Suddenly the animal in him cowered. The scene he had pictured on the way to the hotel, the one that had made his body so rock hard before, now just made him ashamed. Pictures of rough, mind blowing sex turned into candle light and soft touches, laughs and words of love.
Slowly he entered the room, took in the changes, the obvious smell of fresh paint and cleaning products assaulting his body.
His books, the few favorites he had chosen to keep over the years, were lined up neatly in a mahogany bookcase on the far wall. The attached kitchenette had been cleaned and upgraded with new appliances; a small fridge, microwave oven. The bed that Cordelia had draped herself across was enormous, heavy, masculine and sat atop an ornate rug covering the freshly polished hardwood floor. The entire room was a mixture of old and new, with muted colors and a good combination of antiques and custom made pieces.
He stepped closer to the bed, stared down at her. “What did you do?” he whispered the question.
Cordelia’s eyes fluttered, opened slightly, then blinked the haze of sleep away. Angel, he came into focus and it took her a moment before she understood that she was awake. “Angel?” she sat up, embarrassed that she had fallen asleep, that he had found her this way.
She had snuck back to the room after the others had gone to sleep, just as she had the night before. Worrying for him, waiting for him, reading his books, the ones she could anyway. Daring to look at the rest of his sketchbook. Seeing herself through his eyes.
She had felt so foolish for the need to know him better, to be closer to him. But Wesley’s stories, Fred’s faith in him, Gunn’s loyalty, had turned Angel into something much different than the monster she had met when she first arrived. And reading the books that obviously meant so much to him, touched him in some way, were helping her even more to decipher the true Angel, the soul behind the shell.
But out of all of those things, the sketches were her favorite. When she had dared to look into the book again, she had found even more of herself, the others. She had stared at each one for hours, wondering how he could believe he was such a monster, when he could create such beauty, such emotion with the stroke of his hand.
Cordelia swallowed hard and nervously rose from the bed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep. I was…” she looked down at the sketchbook in her hand and closed it, quickly placing it on the bed. What would he think of her invasion on his privacy? Suddenly the word that Wesley had used to describe his possible reaction came unbidden to her mind. Unpredictable. All of this was working out so wrong. She wanted him to come back to his empty room, surprise him the way she had been with the flowers he had left for her. She had pictured him taking it all in slowly, alone, at his own pace, coming to them when he felt he could. Now everything just felt uncomfortable, forced, her presence in the room wrong.
“I…” she began, then thought out her words better. “We just thought you deserve the same as the rest of us.” Cordelia bit her lower lip anxiously. His face was a blank mask, his amber eyes void of any emotion. She couldn’t read him, especially not in the dim light of the room. She waited for his response. Hoped that her instinct had not been wrong.
Angel simply stared at her for a moment, entranced by the way her tongue darted out to wet her full lower lip, her teeth following to bite at it nervously. He dragged his gaze from her, looked around, taking the room in again. He had been wrong. It hadn’t been the touch of her hand on his skin that was causing her to invade his thoughts, his body, his soul. It was the touch of Cordelia herself, her presence in everything; the hotel, his room, his pitiful existence.
She was changing him by just her existence. His eyes settled back on her, “You did this,” it was a statement, not a question. And it meant more than she knew.
He didn’t like it. She was sure of it. “Well, I know it isn’t the post-trauma, ‘look-at-me-I’m-an-animal’ stink hole ya had before. But you could show a little gratitude buddy,” she griped, her exhaustion and embarrassment getting the best of her. “I mean, we really worked our butts off up here and you act like…..What is it?”
Angel’s mouth twitched at her tone. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had the nerve to scold him. A very small, amused smile spread over his jagged teeth, the minuscule show of emotion shocking himself as well as Cordelia.
He reached out, taking her hand, happy beyond measure when she didn’t flinch. “I’m sorry,” he didn’t let go. “Thank you.” He was staring at her, lost in some trance and he was dragging her right along with him. His thumb began to feather gently back and forth along the inside of her wrist. He wasn’t even aware of the instinctive gesture.
Cordelia, on the other hand, was all too aware of the touch, the sparks that seemed to flicker with each stroke. Her pulse leapt wildly and she found herself needing to catch her breath.
“So,” his voice was soft, masculine, mesmerizing. “Are you going to show me around my new room, or what?”
“Huh?” she shook herself and stepped away, leaving his hand empty, lonely. Clearing her throat, she tried to gain some kind of control over her breathless voice before she spoke. “Well, Angel,” she smiled as she approached the kitchenette, fanning her hand out like a game show model, making his grin into an authentic smile. “Welcome to the Twentieth Century.”
She explained in detail the new appliances, giving him a quick instruction on how they worked, opened the small refrigerator fully stocked with a week’s supply of blood. It marveled him that that particular display had not seemed to bother her, and if it had, he was grateful that she had pretended that it hadn’t.
His eyes never left her face as she went through every step, in each part of the room. Explaining how she and Fred had come up with the color scheme. How Gunn and Wesley had fought over the wiring and plumbing details. She made sure that each member of the hotel got their due, that he understood that it had been a team effort. But he knew it had been all Cordelia.
He loved the way her eyes lit up when she talked about duvets and light filtering drapes. He watched her mouth as she went on and on about thread counts and the intricacies of a good pillow, suddenly finding linens a very sexy and mouthwatering subject. Her mood was light and contagious and he found himself being caught up in the moment. Until they reached the side of his bed where the sketchbook lay.
Cordelia fell silent, the smile and playfulness she had adopted before fading from her eyes as she watched his unwavering gaze drift down to the book, a look of discomfort now covering his face.
“I’m sorry,” she finally offered. “I shouldn’t have snooped. I just couldn’t help myself.”
“I wish you hadn’t seen those,” his voice was low, embarrassed by the sketches. “I should have destroyed them as soon as I finished.”
“No!” she was suddenly furious. He looked up at her with confusion. “Don’t you dare! They’re beautiful!”
He knew the only ones that were beautiful were the ones of her. In truth, he didn’t mind that she had seen those. It was the others, the nightmares, that he wanted to spare her from. Hide the truth of his life that he was ashamed of. “Not all of them are beautiful,” he admitted.
“Yes they are,” she picked up the book. “Real artists show beauty and pain in their work. This is your life, your experience. Don’t ever destroy that.”
He took the book from her and laid it back down on the bed, staring down at it for a moment.
“I think we all wish we could wipe away the terrible things that have happened to us, hide away from them. I wish I hadn’t been such a bitch in school. I wish my father hadn’t lost all our money, made his stupid deal. I wish my mother had had the strength to stay, to be the mom I wanted. But truthfully,” she thought of her realization in the cab of the truck, of liking who she was more now than she ever had, despite everything that had happened. “Those things have made me stronger, made me realize what really is important.”
Angel turned to her, letting her words sink in. Reaching up, he lifted his hand to her face and stroked her cheek. He couldn’t figure out if he was in heaven or hell. If Cordelia was temptation or salvation. “How do you do that? Make life seem so easy, so simple?”
Cordelia couldn’t move, but she tried to keep herself calm, struggled to ignore what the small touch was doing to her body. “It’s not easy, Angel. Hiding’s the easy way out. But then you’re not really living at all when you do that. Are you?”
Angel’s hand slid down, spanning her slender neck. Cordelia’s pulse jumped in response. “Thank you,” she said a little breathless, feeling a little like a rabbit caught in the claws of a wolf. “For the flowers. They’re beautiful. I’ve never seen any that bloom at night like that.”
“I’m sorry I scared you,” he whispered as he leaned a little closer.
“You didn’t scare me. I was just…I should never have touched you like that. We barely know each other,” she admitted even as his hand found its way to her chin, tilting her head up slightly.
His gaze dropped from her eyes to her mouth. His thumb traced her full, lower lip. His hand slipped expertly to the nape of her neck. She might leave the hotel some day, go on with her life, but this moment, standing in the room she had created for him, was his. He could feel her pulse racing, but he couldn’t sense an ounce of fear. Slowly, carefully, he pulled her toward him, waiting for the moment to end, the spell to be broken by her revulsion, by the look of fear in her eyes.
She should have pulled away. Her brain screamed that everything about it was wrong, but her body didn’t seem to listen, couldn’t seem to fight the spell he was weaving, ached even in anticipation for his lips to touch hers. Then she felt it. The cool feather light brush of his mouth. Heat raced through her body, pooling low in the pit of her stomach.
When she felt the soft, soothing caress of his tongue along the crease of her lips, she gasped, felt the floor move beneath her feet and reached up to hold on to him, to steady herself.
The kiss was so soft, so tender. But she could tell by the fine tremor in his tight muscles that he was using every bit of his restraint not to hurt her, afraid of piercing her with his sharp fangs.
She would stop. One more second and she would pull away. But even as she decided it her lips parted. Angel took advantage immediately, his tongue venturing into her velvet-soft mouth.
Fire seemed to race through her veins. She’d been kissed before, more than kissed. But this was no groping quarterback in the backseat of his brother’s car. This was sweet passion, raw need, all rolled into one nearly innocent kiss. For the first time in her life, Cordelia knew what the true meaning of chemistry was. Knew why people that never seemed to fit together could burn for one another. Love one another.
At that thought, the word love, Cordelia placed her hands on the solid wall of his chest, pushing away slightly. She blinked away the fog of lust that had consumed her and looked up into his face. She caught herself this time before she could react, before she could betray what she saw there, not wanting to push him away again, not sure if he would even believe her.
It was the same vision that had wavered before her two nights ago, but this time she knew that it was no dream, no self induced hallucination. It was real. He was real. A face to match his name. Brown eyes stared down at her, making her insides melt in the wealth of emotion she saw reflected back at her.
She could tell he was uneasy now, fearing the moment. Reaching up, she ran her hand through his dark hair, assuring him with a gesture that he hadn’t made a mistake. Should she tell him what she saw? Risk his misunderstanding a second time? She smiled at him as her hand fell away, staring at his face she whispered, “I wish you could see yourself the way I see you.”
But her words brought reality back to Angel, and she swallowed her shock as his face morphed back into that of a vampire right in front of her eyes.
Feeling suddenly self-conscious, crowded by her scrutinizing gaze, and remembering that he had traveled through the L.A. sewers two nights in a row, Angel stepped away slowly. “I need a shower,” he said suddenly. Not wanting to touch her with the stink of where he had been forced to stay on him. Needing to wash away the smell of her skin and the borrowed heat of her body before he did something foolish like kissing her again.
Cordelia took it as her cue to leave. “Well,” she breathed. “Goodnight.”
“You don’t have to go,” the words rushed from his mouth before he could stop them. “I mean. I’ll be out in a minute. We could sit and talk for a while,” he offered hopefully.
It sounded wonderful. But Cordelia wasn’t convinced, after such a heated, earthshaking kiss, that talking would be the only thing on the agenda. She needed to go back to her room, clear her head, cool off. She needed a shower herself. A very cold one.
“I’m tired, Angel. We both need some rest. But if you promise not to disappear on us again, maybe tomorrow night,” she gave him a small smile.
“Sure,” he conceded.
They both stood in silence for a moment. “Well,” Cordelia said again. “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight,” Angel stared after her as she quietly closed the door. Cursing at himself minutes later for not walking her back down to her room.
***
Cordelia bypassed her floor, heading straight for Wesley’s room. This had to end. It was time the members of this….whatever it was, get off their butts and find a cure for Angel. She thought of his face. The way his human visage had shimmered in place for a moment. Had it always done that? Angel had hid for so long, maybe the others had never had a chance to see it. He couldn’t look at himself, had no reflection. That might explain why he didn’t know.
Cordelia found Wesley’s room empty and immediately headed for the office, her anger and desperation for Angel growing with each step. Why hadn’t Wesley invested his time, his talent into a cure for Angel? At the least he should be researching exactly why it had happened. What the spell had actually done to him.
The office light poured into the dark lobby. Cordelia marched in and stood in front of Wesley’s desk, peering down at him, tapping her foot impatiently on the tile floor.
“May I help you?” he asked a little annoyed, looking up at her over his glasses.
“Working on your little project?”
“Yes,” he waited.
“I see,” she began to pace. “And all the while, while you sit here in this little hole, documenting, putting together your little research manual, hoping to get your old job back, Angel’s up there, suffering,” she pointed to the ceiling.
Wesley closed his book and stood anxiously, “He’s returned then?”
“Yes, he’s returned then?” she tried to mock his prime British accent.
“Cordelia…..”
“You’re so selfish, Wesley. Fred I can excuse,” she was seething now. “Gunn at least does what he knows, helps in his own way. But you,” she pointed at him. “You use all of this,” she waved around to the hotel.
“Cordelia, if you’ll just listen….” he tried to interrupt.
“No, you listen! You use this lifestyle to benefit yourself…”
“Cordelia…”
“When what you should be doing is working on Angel’s problem. Helping the one person on earth who’s helped you. Working on a cure for his curse! Finding a way to….”
“There is no curse!” Wesley’s voice rose, echoing in her ears, stunning her into silence. Cordelia stared at him, her mouth slightly open.
Wesley calmed himself, hoping Angel had not picked up his outburst, “There is no curse,” he repeated in a hushed voice. “At least not anymore.”
“I don’t understand,” Cordelia looked lost.
“Sit down,” Wesley ushered her to the small vinyl chair against the wall then perched himself atop his desk. Taking a deep breath, he began. “Willow Rosenberg is a fledgling Wicca at best. The spell she cast on Angel was to show the Slayer his hidden identity. It was a mere Glamour at best. The spell itself couldn’t have lasted more than an hour at most. However, I’m afraid, the effects have lingered far longer,” he paused, his eyes full of sorrow for Angel and helplessness at his own failure.
“You see, the event cut Angel deeply. Leaving an emotional scar that cannot seem to heal.”
“You’re saying…” Cordelia struggled to comprehend. “You’re saying that it’s all in Angel’s mind.”
“I’m afraid so.”
“So that’s why? All the books on demon psychology? The hours and hours of study?” guilt flooded her voice.
“You couldn’t have known,” he excused. “No one does.”
“Why haven’t you told him?” she couldn’t help but feel slightly betrayed on Angel’s behalf. He had a right to know.
“From what I’ve read, telling him that it is all in his mind, essentially all his fault, could compound the problem even more. I had hoped to bring him out of the trauma naturally. I thought that we were on the right path when he began helping others, realizing what he could do.”
“But then the family, the night with Gunn,” she finished for him.
“Exactly.”
Cordelia fell silent.
“I had almost lost hope, but then you came of your own free will. Asking specifically for Angel’s assistance. And then…”
“I saw his face, his other face,” she interrupted.
“And my hope was renewed.”
Cordelia opened her mouth, intending on clarifying her statement, letting Wesley in on the encounter with Angel just minutes earlier, but a loud crash interrupted her, jarring both she and Wesley to their feet.
Glass spilled into the lobby as another crash was heard, Wesley grabbed a rifle he kept under his desk as he pushed his way past Cordelia to the lobby.
Cordelia peered behind him from the office door, watching as a man dressed in what appeared to be black military garb entered through the broken window. More windows shattered and in minutes the one lone soldier turned into a half dozen. Wesley raised his rifle, but before his finger found the trigger, a dart from a soldier’s gun planted itself in his chest. Wesley slumped and fell.
Seeming to ignore Cordelia, the soldiers turned their attention to the stairs. Instinctively she knew who they had come for. Sprinting to the center of the lobby, she picked up Wesley’s gun and tried the best she could to aim, but the trigger seemed stuck. Closing in behind the last man, she swung the gun back like a bat, striking him over the head. The soldier shook away the ineffective blow and turned to her. “Angel!” she screamed.
The soldier pulled the dart gun behind his head in a move that mocked Cordelia’s, striking her across the temple, landing a solid blow.