Part 2
As atmospheres go, this was about the most uncomfortable this library had ever seen. The faces of everyone in the room reflected the consternation of a group of felons caught with their hands in the bank vault. Gazes would meet then slide away anxiously, a silent game of tag where no one was the winner and everyone felt like a loser. Fidgeting became an art form as they shifted restlessly, grabbing edges of their chairs or clothing in an attempt to steady bouncing nerves.
They were a disparate group, their pairings last night made evident by their distance from one another. Xander and Willow were yards apart; Spike and Buffy stood stiffly across the room from each other. One boot-clad foot tapped an annoying rhythm on the tile floor, and Spike waged a silent war with Buffy as she glared at him in an ineffective attempt to get him to stop.
Cordelia observed all of this with a nonchalant expression, but her feelings were bouncing off her insides like electricity arcing from an exposed power line. She couldn’t help but keep glancing over at Buffy and letting her imagination run amok. If the Slayer reacted like Cordy thought she would, Angel’s implied offer of protection had better be genuine.
The object of Cordy’s lust stood stoically a discreet distance away, but the distance didn’t matter; he could be forty feet away and the feel of his hands on her body would still vibrate through every pore of her skin. Something had awoken in her and stirred to life last night, an emotion that had lain dormant her entire life. These electric feelings only underscored what she’d been avoiding ever since she woke up in Angel’s bed this morning: last night had been the stuff of dreams. Naughty dreams.
Or were they nightmares?
Okay, so Angel had topped her list of hot guys since she’d first laid eyes on him at the Bronze two years ago, and even though she’d kicked him off his pedestal after learning of his vampire nature, she’d never completely been able to strike him off the list. He was a first-class piece of eye candy, after all. But he’d been Buffy’s man, and the kicked puppy routine he’d adopted after regaining his soul and returning from hell had never appealed to her.
The dark side of him, though, the one she’d seen and felt last night as his fangs slid into her neck, that side fascinated her. It fascinated her enough to fight the Slayer for him, and that thought made her uncharacteristically annoyed with herself.
After all, he was still a vampire. And Cordelia Chase did not do vampires, supernatural interference or not.
She was pulled from her thoughts by the thud of the front legs of Xander’s chair hitting the floor. He was perched precariously on the back of it, feet planted on its seat as he eyed Spike suspiciously. Absently, he stroked the rather large stake clutched in his hand. His eyes narrowed as the vampire’s eyes sought out Buffy and a smirk curved his mouth.
Xander’s ire bubbled over in a verbal froth. “And why are you here, bleach boy?”
A scarred eyebrow raised in challenge. “Same as you, mate. Got lucky last night, is all.”
“Lucky? You?” Xander snorted. “Ha. You wish.”
A cat-ate-the-canary expression spread over Spike’s handsome face. “Ask your girl warrior there, whelp. Been seen to proper, she has,” he smirked, then turned a glare Angel’s way and added, “for once.”
Angel’s warning growl made everyone shiver, but Cordelia felt the zing of it all the way to her soul. She straightened her spine, desperately trying to hide the flush that crept across her skin.
She was saved as Spike responded to his sire’s threat with an answering growl, though he tried to hide it.
“Spike!” Buffy hissed. “Shut up.”
“Oi, but it wasn’t just once, now was it, love?” His eyes turned a deeper blue as he caught Buffy’s gaze and held it. Her reluctance was obvious to everyone, but so was the desperate attraction. Cordelia felt an acute sense of camaraderie with Buffy at that moment; she could totally relate.
Spike slowly began to advance toward Buffy. “Kept satisfying you over and over and–“
“Watch it, fang face,” Xander threatened, his stake pressed to Spike’s chest, and the vampire halted.
“Right, like that’ll stop him.” Cordelia’s sarcasm cut through the tense silence as Spike smirked his best evil smile in Xander’s direction. “You, puny human, him, master vampire. Don’t think a stake’s gonna help you, Xander.”
The snark helped her regain perspective, and she sighed in relief. For a minute there, she’d put herself in Buffy’s shoes–heaven forbid–and was reliving her own multiple orgasms last night. Why couldn’t she forget about it?
Her ex glared at her. “Whose side are you on, Cordy?”
“The winning one,” she quipped, “which this time I don’t think is yours.”
“And just where were you last night, huh?” Xander shot back, his stake dropping as he realized the truthfulness to her words. Spike stayed where he was and eyed Buffy lasciviously.
Cordelia swallowed, searching for a way to explain that wouldn’t end in evisceration.
“Xander, please.” Willow’s voice was pleading from her place on the stairs. The best friends shared one pained glance then Xander looked away.
“I was with Angel,” Cordy answered, finally deciding to throw caution to the wind. It wasn’t like she could keep it a secret, now was it?
“You what?” Buffy choked, Spike’s offensive behavior forgotten. Instead of attacking Cordelia as she’d feared, Buffy turned wounded hazel eyes in Angel’s direction. “No, you didn’t, you couldn’t–“
A painful tightness immediately gripped Cordelia’s chest as she took in Buffy’s stricken expression. Possessiveness roiled in her gut, all sympathy for Buffy gone as she gritted her teeth and forced down a retort that would’ve let Buffy know exactly how Angel could, and did do exactly that. Her eyes flickered over to Angel’s, only to find that he was full-force deer-in-the-headlights and looking to her for rescue.
Angel was saved from answering when Joyce tentatively opened the library doors and walked in, a tremulous smile on her face.
Buffy’s pained look turned to astonishment. “Mom? What are you doing here?”
Joyce opened her mouth as if to answer, then blushed furiously and closed it again.
Cordelia’s eyebrow raised in speculation. Buffy had a point. What was her mother doing here?
The answer hit her like a ton of bricks when Giles’ office door swung open with a creak and he strode in purposefully, but not before darting a quick but heated glance in Joyce’s direction.
Well, now, that was interesting.
The watcher paused as he realized everyone’s stares were trained on him, but he only cleared his throat, adjusted his glasses, and motioned them all to take a seat around the conference table.
“I’ve called you all here because we have a bit of an unusual situation on our hands,” he began, shuffling the papers in front of him and not meeting the eyes of anyone for longer than a half-second. “But before we go into the details, I want to make something very clear.”
Abruptly his demeanor changed. He straightened and pinned all of them with a gimlet stare. “The details will be embarrassing to share, but nothing that happened last night,” he looked directly at Joyce, and stressed, “nothing that happened is anyone’s fault.”
“How can you be sure?” Willow asked, her voice timid.
Giles’s eyes softened as he looked at her. “Because everyone in this room is in the same situation. All of us. And I’m quite sure that none of us has ever seriously entertained a relationship with the partner we were with last night.”
There were a few darting, guilty glances between couples. Everyone there could’ve argued with Giles’ statement–even Joyce–but no one did. Xander cleared his voice, and Buffy once again looked with wounded eyes at Angel. Her eyes passed over her mother as she looked away. They widened to the size of saucers when she looked back and comprehended her mother’s reason for being here.
“Mom? You–you and Giles?” The last came out in a squeak.
“Whoa, Rupes, didn’t think you had it in you. Way to go, mate.”
Spike’s congratulations weren’t appreciated. “That’s enough.” Giles voice was a growl that could’ve competed with Angel’s.
The younger vampire stiffened and was about to retort when he saw Joyce’s tense jaw and watery eyes. “‘m sorry, Joyce. Din’t mean to embarrass you.”
She turned a watery smile up to him. “Thank you, Spike.”
“So what do you think happened?” Cordelia asked, coming to sit an empty chair next to Joyce. Angel moved to stand behind her.
Giles sighed. “That, I’m not at all sure of. What I’d like to do is interview each of you, catalogue your recollections of the incident, and then compare each account.”
“Share?” Cordelia’s eyes widened as she glanced warily over at Buffy. “In front of everyone?”
Giles shook his head. “I’ll interview you separately so I can maintain the purity of your recollections. I wouldn’t want you to hear someone else’s account and then have yours be tainted.”
“What do you think you’ll find?” Angel asked.
“Frankly, I don’t know. We’ve traveled a bit in the past two months, and any of the sacred sites we visited could’ve had an adverse affect.”
“Or maybe some horny demon rubbed off on us,” Xander suggested, then recoiled at everyone’s disgusted glances at his choice of words. “Hey, you know what I mean!”
“It’s a possibility,” Giles said dryly. “For now, I think you should report to your classes. I’ll interview Willow and Xander first. Buffy, you and Spike can come in 2nd period, and Angel and Cordelia directly afterward.”
Xander and Willow moved toward Giles’ office, wary and distant from each other.
Giles walked over to Joyce, who quickly stood up and followed him to a corner of the room.
“I’ll come by the house this evening,” Giles was saying softly. “We can talk then.”
“I can make dinner,” Joyce offered, then blushed as if embarrassed for offering under the circumstances.
Giles saved her with a gentle smile. “That would be lovely, Joyce. I’ll see you this evening.”
Joyce nodded and approached her daughter. She explained about Giles coming for dinner.
Seeing Joyce’s watery eyes, Buffy hugged her. “It’ll be okay, Mom. Giles will figure out what did this and I’ll go kill it.”
“I know, honey,” Joyce whispered into her daughter’s ear, clutching her close. “I’m sorry if I’ve made things difficult for you.”
Buffy drew back sharply and grasped her mother’s shoulders. “No, mom! Don’t worry about it. I love you. I love Giles. It’ll work out. No problem.”
Joyce pulled away. “I’ll see you at home, then.” With a small smile toward the group, she left.
Turning from the door, Buffy shot Spike a glance.
“Slayer,” he acknowledged with a nod. “Wanna find a closet and pass the time ’till Ripper needs us?”
A blush of pleasure crept up on her face before she was able to turn it into a sneer. “You’re a pig, Spike.”
“And don’t you love it,” he said in a low voice, trailing one long finger down her cheek, and Buffy’s shivers were visible. Huffing, she jerked away from him and stalked out the door to class, but not before throwing a worried glance back at the remaining couple in the room.
Cordelia watched her leave, hesitating next to Angel. “That was bad, but not like I thought it would be,” she said quietly.
Angel sighed and let himself be distracted by Spike’s swagger as the younger vampire postured a bit only to sink lazily into a chair.
“I think it’ll only get worse,” he finally said, meeting her eyes.
“Thanks, Mr. Optimism.” A grimace accompanied her sarcasm.
The morning bell rang, and Angel glanced at the clock. “Go to class,” he ordered softly, his hand coming up to rest lightly on her shoulder. “We’ll talk later.”
Cordy nodded, suddenly unable to speak. A charged look passed between them; she spun on a spiked heel and swept from the room.
****
Xander shoved the stake so hard into his pocket that the tip poked through the lining and scraped his skin. He cursed, rubbing the tender spot on his thigh, and strode down the hall to the soda machine, fishing in his other pocket for change.
He’d ducked out of the library for a few minutes before he and Willow had to face the British Inquisition. One look at Giles’s face had told him he needed sugary, caffeinated sustenance before he went into that office; the watcher was in his form of combat mode, and everyone knew Giles could interrogate with the best law enforcement agents in the world.
Finding the coins he needed, Xander dropped them into the slot and cursed again when two of them slid straight through the change slot. Slamming his fist against the plastic housing in frustration, he paused for a minute to calm down before he fished the coins out and slid them in again, finally making his selection. The can slid down with a satisfying clank.
Popping the tab, Xander threw his head back and gulped down half of the cold, bubbly drink in one swallow, then sighed and leaned against the wall, waiting for the caffeine to take effect. Placing the cool can against his forehead, Xander groaned and let the despair he’d been holding back flood through him.
Damn it, why did this have to happen to him? Not that he was upset about having sex; that part had been a dream come true. But with Willow? God, she was like his sister. His really cute sister, granted, but there was still an intense level of squickiness here that he didn’t want to think about.
Was he in love with her? Xander thought about that as he sipped the rest of his soda. No, he finally decided. He was attracted to Willow, but he loved her with a quiet surety that he didn’t feel about anyone else. A more familial than romantic kind of love, but it wasn’t really sisterly, he supposed. Sexual attraction was there primarily because he was an undersexed teenage boy, but he doubted that they would’ve ever gone so far if they hadn’t been manipulated into bed together.
Pulling away from the wall, Xander began trudging back toward the library. At least he didn’t have to worry about Willow being involved with someone else. Oz hadn’t stuck around like Cordy had when they’d found him and Willow making out in Spike’s dungeon, much to everyone’s surprise. If he’d been asked to predict the outcome, Xander–and everyone else, for that matter–would’ve put money on Oz’s faithfulness over Cordy’s any day. But she’d stayed, and he hadn’t.
Even stranger was the fact that Willow had mourned very little for her lost werewolf boyfriend. She’d seemed to accept it with a sad sort of dignity and after a few weeks of quiet reflection, she’d come back to her old self.
This was so different than their last little experiment in romance. Xander knew that he should probably be feeling the same giddy guiltiness he’d felt when he’d kissed Willow the first time, but it was so much different. It was almost like comparing “Sixteen Candles” to “Love Story;” there was an entirely different set of emotions involved here. Something darker. Deeper. More adult.
Coming out of his reverie, Xander realized he’d stopped right in front of the entrance to the library, the doors looming before him like the gates to the Roman Coliseum. An apt comparison, he supposed, considering he felt like martyr being fed to the lions.
But then his thoughts turned to Willow, and he admitted that what he was feeling was probably one-tenth the intensity of Willow’s turmoil. She’d always felt things more keenly than he had, her sensitive nature turning against her in the most dire of circumstances. The look on her face this morning still haunted him, and Xander knew that he’d never forget the seemingly impossible feeling of euphoria combined with horror that he’d felt at seeing her face. He’d felt equal parts shame and protectiveness, but neither emotion had taken control, leaving him silent and inept. Willow had been the one to get out of bed, call Giles, and get them to the library. Willow, not him. The knowledge that he’d added to an already overwhelming burden only increased his guilt.
That thought made him straighten up and lean forward, pushing through the library doors with resolution. He wouldn’t let Willow down. They were in this together, and while he was probably the last person she wanted to comfort her, Xander was determined not to let this–this–whatever the hell had screwed with them–end his friendship with her.
Willow was too important to be lost without a fight.
****
Cordelia listened absently to the sound of her high heels clacking on the high school hallway floor as she swiftly moved toward her locker. Mechanically, she unlocked it, removed her books, shouldered her purse, and turned toward first period with a preoccupied mind.
The possessiveness she’d felt for Angel was still fluttering through her like streamers at a parade. She couldn’t get used to it; she’d never felt this for anyone, especially not Xander. For Angel, she’d be willing to kill another woman. Okay, well, maybe not kill, at least not at first. But rearranging her face? Definitely on the list. Angel was hers. Every cell in her body was screaming it.
Her mind was in serious denial.
And well it should be. She needed be freaking out about this; her reaction to this point wasn’t exactly normal. Why, exactly, hadn’t she run screaming from his bedroom this morning? Any sane girl would’ve at least been upset, not ready to jump back into bed and go another round or twenty. Cordy’s feet paused on the tile floor as her body flushed with the possibilities that presented. She may not remember most of last night, but her imagination was doing a hell of a job filing in the blanks and directing several sizzling sequels.
Shaking herself out of those entirely inappropriate thoughts, she continued walking. Geez, this was Angel, for pete’s sake. A vampire. A DEAD guy. Unbreathing. Ancient. Boring. Cold. Hard. Smooth. Ripped. Hot. Oh, God, so completely hot. And damn it, here she was, drooling on the floor in the hallway at school over a vampire. One she should be running from screaming to high heaven. So why couldn’t she get him out of her mind?
Even as she asked herself that question, Cordelia knew the answer. There was a power in Angel that drew her to him, something enigmatic and primal. Every time he fought she witnessed it, but it had never occurred to her before now that the rush she got from patrolling with the group could possibly be linked to Angel. A rapid pulse and the warm, tingly feeling that accompanied it had always been something she attributed to the adrenaline her body produced in response to fear. Now she wondered if it might be something else entirely.
One big piece of evidence was foremost in her mind. When Angel had growled at Spike in the library, that same tingly feeling swept through her, but it wasn’t remotely associated with fear. She’d had other reactions, too: a tightening of her lower stomach muscles and a twinge that made her want to squeeze her thighs together. Her mouth went dry, and she was suddenly a bit dizzy in remembrance of that same sound reverberating in her ear as his body stroked within hers.
“Gonna stand there all day, Cordelia?” Harmony’s haughty voice brought Cordelia back to the present and she stepped aside to let her friend through the door.
Striding toward her desk, she forced herself to clear her mind of all the nonsense of last night.
Her English teacher dashed her hopes. “Good morning, everyone,” she greeted in a voice that was criminally cheerful for this time of the morning. “We’re starting a new novel today. Dracula, a darker piece of fiction but an intriguing one nonetheless.”
Slumping in her seat in defeat, Cordelia reluctantly took the novel as it was passed to her. This was not something she wanted to read; one darkly tortured vampire was enough to deal with, thank you very much.
****
Rarely did Spike let anything get under his skin. One couldn’t tell by looking at him, what with the swagger and the incendiary temper and the grandiose posturing he displayed all the time. But most of that was for show, and no one knew it better than he did. It helped to maintain a kind of loose cannon reputation, especially around the hellmouth.
That being the case, Spike was having difficulty adjusting to the turmoil that now resided in his mind. Waking up in bed with a woman as beautiful as the Slayer would normally be something that would make his chest puff up in pride, right before he made the wench his right tasty breakfast snack. Or if she were a vampire, before he’d kick her out without more than a, “Thanks for the tumble, luv.”
But last night had been different. Being with Buffy was indescribable. It would disturb the mental tranquility of any red-blooded male, undead or living. But it wasn’t as if he were having regrets about a one-night stand; he’d given up human guilt over debauchery a century ago. It was deeper than that. Something that reached down into the pit of his darkest fears and dragged them all up, screaming, to the surface of his mind.
One thought kept echoing, despite his valiant attempts to suppress it: being with Buffy had made him feel more alone than ever.
Ever since Dru had left, Spike’s carefully-maintained facade had begun to crack. The pieces of William that he’d found weak and detestable as he became a master vampire were floating to the surface and he hadn’t the tools to deal with them. It had been a severe blow to his ego to realize that Dru, a woman he’d devoted his entire unlife to, couldn’t be faithful to him. It wasn’t that she’d had sex with someone else; that was the vampire way. But that she’d abandoned her devotion to him, that was the sticking point. He’d begun to have nagging doubts: did he have something wrong with him, something that prevented him from finding someone who would love him? And, sod it all, why the bloody hell did he need someone to love him in the first place? He was a master vampire, not some poofy idiot who couldn’t take care of himself.
Spike shuddered, jerking himself out of his gloomy thoughts. Focusing on the only other presence in the room–speaking of poofy–Angel. The older vampire seemed oblivious to his presence, and that was just fine with Spike. Nonetheless, Spike slouched in his seat, projecting the perfect picture of self-assured sinfulness. He tried to focus on ways to find the spot of violence he’d been craving as a way to banish these feelings of inadequacy. But even as he plotted, his mind wandered again, the fire he usually felt while pondering his next kill now eclipsed by this new discomfort. Not to mention the images of a delectable naked Buffy that kept haunting him. He paused, glancing over at Angel, when he thought about what might happen when he saw her again.
Damn it, the woman was gorgeous. All that golden, shiny hair that smelled of apples when he’d buried his nose in it. Her smooth skin, stretched over tightly honed muscles, her body perfection in its healthiness. Just the thought of seeing her again made his undead heart clench and his hands tremble. She was irresistible to him, damn her. Hatred used to be a given, but now she’d mixed up his insides like a pan of scrambled eggs. At any rate, it didn’t matter how she made him feel emotionally; the physical side was bloody fantastic and Spike wasn’t sure if he had enough willpower to resist when he saw her again.
Then again, why should he?
Spike paused for a moment, contemplating the possibilities. She’d been a willing consort last night, no doubt about that. Moaning and writhing that golden body in a way that made his head spin. But her friends–and her damned watcher–would be a pain in his arse he wouldn’t put up with. Not to mention the flak he’d have to take from her ex-ball-and-chain.
He would just have to avoid her at all costs. Unless she approached him, sassy wench that she was. And then, well, maybe it wouldn’t hurt to just look. Then attack, conquer, and plunder.
The thought brought a wide grin.
A movement in Spike’s peripheral vision brought his thoughts back to the present once again. A wary Giles was exiting the office with Xander and Willow in tow. The kids looked drained, and for one fleeting moment, Spike felt sorry for them.
“Who’s next in front of the firing squad?” Xander quipped, and Buffy strode into the room as he spoke.
“Let’s get this over with,” she muttered, casting a scathing glance in Spike’s direction.
Spike could only grin as she stalked into Giles’ office, her hips twitching bewitchingly in her anger.
God, he loved her fire. Could warm a vampire for decades.
****
Cordelia’s confident steps as she strode into the library were an adequate cover for the nerves that fluttered like bats in her stomach. At least, she hoped they were. It was paramount that Angel not get though her walls again. She would not give into the fiery feelings that swept through her every time she was in his presence. She wouldn’t.
Sparing him a neutral glance, she slid into a chair near his at the table in the middle of the library. Muffled voices could be heard behind Giles’ office door, and she knew from their cadences that the conversation was not a positive one. It made her stomach clench to realize that she and Angel were next to go in there, next to face Giles and have to tell their story. The whole sordid, wonderful, awful, bone-tingling, horrible mess. And it was that. A tangled bit of both negative and positive emotions, the yin and yang warring with each other instead of finding peace and harmony.
She felt rather than saw Angel shift in his seat and instinctively knew he’d try to engage her in some kind of conversation, probably in an attempt to calm her fears. But she would not be swayed. Angel couldn’t be hers. And the sooner she came to grips with that, the sooner she’d get on with her life.
Slipping her hand into her backpack, Cordelia pulled out her Dracula novel and began to read tonight’s homework assignment. She’d read the same sentence three times when Angel finally spoke.
“Cordy?”
She stifled a groan as his rough voice made her skin tingle.
“Reading here, Angel. You’re kinda interrupting.” She shot him a scathing glance for good measure and tried not to let her remorse show when she saw the bewilderment on his face.
He frowned a bit, then sat back and crossed his arms over his chest, legs stretched out in front of him with his ankles crossed over each other. “What are you reading?”
She bit her lip in genuine annoyance this time. “Dracula.”
His snort of disapproval made her stare at him again. “What? You have a problem with that?”
He shrugged. “It’s your mind. You can turn it to mush with drivel like that if you want. Don’t let me stop you.”
“It’s required reading.”
“Figures,” he scoffed. “Makes sense that the high school on the hellmouth would have its students read a vampire novel with misleading and dangerous information in it.”
“Duh,” she held up the book, waving it in front of him as her face showed her scorn. “That’s why it’s called fiction, dork.”
Angel’s face turned dark as her snark cut him deeply. He’d meant the statement as a kind of joke, a way to commiserate on the idiocy of life, but she’d turned it into something hurtful. Where was the girl he’d discovered last night? Could they have shared something as passionate and earth-shattering as last night and not maintain the connection? Was he delusional? Was he imagining the soul connection he’d felt with her?
Most of it was hazy, he’d admit to that, but he distinctly remembered moments where they stared into one another’s eyes, their bodies connected in the most primitive and intimate of ways, and he’d felt a oneness with her that he’d never felt with anyone, even Buffy. It was as if the ancient legend was true; he was one part of a broken whole, and Cordelia was his missing piece.
By the annoyed and condescending attitude she was presenting, it was apparent that she didn’t feel the same way. He studied her as she read her book and did an admirable job of pretending he wasn’t worthy of her notice. Almost unwillingly, he let his eyes travel the length of her form, appreciating the curves he’d memorized with his hands. Her scent filled the room, saturating the air and making his head spin. But it was her face that drew him and affected him most deeply. The symmetrical beauty of it intoxicated him, and in that moment, he realized that he’d never be free of her, no matter what had precipitated last night’s events. She was in him, deep down, so far under his skin that she shared his very essence.
Cordelia could feel Angel’s eyes on her with the intensity of a red-hot cattle brand. Really, that’s how she felt: branded with him. The wounds on her neck throbbed every time she was near him, and a deep, warm sense of relaxation permeated her body in his presence, not unlike she’d felt after her first orgasm with him. A type of deep satisfaction that made her bones melt and her muscles tingle.
She shifted uncomfortably in her chair and spared him what was supposed to be only a surreptitious glance, but his eyes were so penetrating and intense that she couldn’t help but hold his gaze. They stared at each other until Giles’ door creaked open and startled them into breaking eye contact.
“…no reason why things can’t go back to normal,” Giles was saying as Spike and Buffy walked out of his office ahead of him. “I know it’s not what any of us wants, but it can’t be undone.”
“Are you okay, Buffy?”
The concern in Angel’s voice coupled with the speed of his appearance at Buffy’s side made Cordelia’s spine stiffen. Like a dragon prodded from its hibernation, her new possessive streak uncoiled inside her and roared. It was all she could do to keep her seat, but she couldn’t help the visual daggers she shot at the Slayer.
As if sensing her primitive reaction, Spike’s eyes whipped to hers and narrowed almost imperceptibly. There was a warning in them, but instead of calming her, it only made Cordelia’s ire rise. The sane part of her brain watched all of this in a sort of morbid fascination, but it could do nothing to calm the demoness unfurling in Cordelia’s psyche.
With great care and deliberate movements, Cordelia stood and walked over to where the others stood, placing herself at Angel’s side, her breast brushing his elbow as a tacit reminder of her presence.
It worked. Angel immediately drew into her side, stepping back and away from his ex-girlfriend.
Buffy still hadn’t answered his question and it seemed she was unlikely to. She stood stiffly, arms crossed in front of her, jaw twitching visibly.
“She’s fine,” Spike growled finally answering for her and placing his hand protectively against the small of her back. Buffy jerked away from him immediately.
“Damn straight, I’m fine,” Buffy muttered, glaring at Spike for daring to touch her again. She didn’t bother to look at Angel.
The demon in Cordelia receded, mollified for the moment. Her mind shook itself from the shock, and all Cordy could think was, what the hell was wrong with her?
“Go home, Buffy,” Giles said to his charge, eyes tired and filled to the brim with heavy responsibility.
Buffy nodded, then shot a look of hatred at Spike that made Cordelia feel bad for the vampire. “Don’t follow me, Spike.”
He stiffened, straightening himself up and putting his thumbs in his belt in a way that was all masculine bravado. “You flatter yourself, Slayer. Wasn’t plannin’ anything of the sort.”
Buffy cocked one eyebrow in haughty disbelief, then spun around and stalked toward the door.
Giles waited until she left before he told Spike, “Make sure she gets home safely.”
The vampire shared a look with the watcher that made Cordelia blink in fascination, her mouth open in astonishment. They were working together. Giles and Spike, a vampire who’d terrorized Europe and still didn’t have a soul, were partners in protection of the Slayer. What’s more, it seemed as though Giles had few reservations about it.
Spike only nodded, then exited in a swirl of leather and the faint scent of cigarette smoke. Cordelia suddenly wondered how Spike would manage to see the Slayer home safely in broad daylight, but she shrugged it off. If anything, the blonde vampire was resourceful.
“What the hell is going on here, Giles?” Angel growled, and despite his tight grip on Cordelia’s waist, he watched Spike’s exit with a kind of possessive reservation that made Cordelia’s hackles raise.
“Come in,” Giles said, sighing as he removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose wearily. “This is going to take awhile.”
