Part 18
Cordelia studied her reflection critically in the mirror of Golden Panda’s bathroom. Her eyes took in the now-long hair, back to its original brown, shiny and healthy. It was natural, in soft waves that fell from her face and hung down her back in a heavy cascade. She scrutinized her nose, scrunching it up, opening her eyes wide and leaning close to the mirror to examine them. Last, she looked over her skin, smiling with satisfaction when she saw that it looked healthy. Not a blemish in sight.
Satisfied that she hadn’t changed a bit in her return trip, she pulled back and straightened her blouse, then adjusted her skirt to rest more comfortably on her hips.
“Well, Queen C,” she said to her reflection. “You’ve still got it goin’ on!” At 11 p.m. on a Tuesday night, the place was dead, her voice echoing off the tiled walls.
She jumped three feet, shrieking, when a cool hand delved beneath her hair and rested on the back of her neck, but immediately relaxed when reason set in.
Whirling around, she smacked Angel hard on his upper arm. “Geez, dumbass! Scare me back to the afterlife, why don’t ya?” She glared at him, but her eyes twinkled.
“I missed you,” he said simply, putting his arms around her waist and leaning against her, trapping her between his hard body and the equally hard granite countertop.
“Dork,” she said, but it was obvious she was pleased.
Her smile left an hurry when she saw his eyes grow dark. He pulled her closer, so close she could feel every single muscle pressed against her. They held there, breathless, staring into each other’s eyes. Cordy felt as though she’d stuck her finger in a light socket and was feeling the immediate jolt of electricity flow throughout her body.
Angel felt it, too, and proved it by attacking her, a tender assault on her lips that made her pant. His tongue entered her mouth, finding hers and tangling with it, his hands roaming under her gauzy shirt. She shivered as his light caresses barely touched her skin, lingering at the small of her back, then traveling around the front until he found the clasp of her bra and undid it.
As soon as her breasts fell free, she shivered again, then arched against him, leaning away from the counter and pressing her body flush against his. She used the weight of her body to grind her hips against his, bringing her hands up and stroking the strong line of his jaw, then scratching the back of his neck.
Angel popped open the buttons on her blouse, his fingers tickling their way down her body until he found the hem. He smiled, a slow, lazy curve of his lips as he pushed her blouse and bra off her shoulders and bared her from the waist up. Immediately, his hands founds found the treasures they sought, cupping her breasts as if testing the weight of them in his hands.
Briefly, he reached further down, gently caressing her hips, traveling behind her to cup her ass and squeeze lightly, then a brush to the gentle dip between her legs. He found the side zipper on her skirt, tugging it down, pulling it and the rest of her clothes off until all of it pooled in an airy cloud at her feet. Then his fingers went back, traveling to all of the same places, her hips, her ass, her curls, all lightly enough to drive her insane.
Not for one moment did his eyes stray from hers.
The magnetic pull of his stare was more erotic than any touches Cordelia had ever felt in her entire life, either this life or the last. His eyes were black, the color of volcanic glass and just as deep. It was as if his eyes were the match to the flame, his hands only fanning it into a fire. Those depths held a vast store of emotion, just like they had earlier, and as his hands traveled her sensitive skin, she watched them change, watched the love flow over the lust, then back again, in an ebb and flow of desire that caught her up in a hypnotic trance.
She was startled when he finally broke eye contact, dropping his eyes down and staring at her breasts, releasing them and leaving her feeling cold at the loss. He stared, and stared, and stared, his gaze wandering her body, resting in every interesting place until her breathing was ragged and her fingers itched to grab him and pull him back to her. He seemed mesmerized by the beauty of her body, and she could almost feel the heat of his eyes searing her skin.
She watched, in slow motion, as his head descended, one hand coming back up to cup her breast and lift it to his mouth. But just as he was about to taste her, he paused, his breath fanning her tender skin, and breathed, “So beautiful, Cor,” and then closed his mouth over the tip of her breast.
Cordy moaned as she felt his mouth on her skin. His cool tongue tugged at her breast, sending shivers of pleasure like tendrils of smoke throughout her body. Her hands came up again, clutching at his biceps, her eyes flying open as she made contact with his shirt and not the bare, cool skin she craved. She grabbed his lapels blindly, his head blocking her way, and pulled violently, his buttons scattering and ricocheting off the walls like candy dropped from a bag. Her mouth watered as his broad shoulders came into view, her fingers greedily moving across his skin and memorizing its texture with her fingers. Her nails lightly scored him, then she gasped and scratched deeper when he bit her nipple slightly.
The sounds pouring from Cordelia’s mouth grew louder and more frantic as Angel moved one hand between her leg, gently prying her thighs apart until he found her center, hot and more than ready for him. She arched against his hand as his fingers found all the right places, each tiny nerve that made her whole body tingle and bright lights appear before her half-shut eyelids.
Suddenly, the reality of their location doused her like cold water. She’d never been one for public acts of lewdness, despite her frank speech. Frantic, she pulled at his hair, bringing his mouth away from her breasts and his eyes back to hers.
She panted, her eyes wide, and all she could manage was a whimpered, “Angel!”
He smiled, a sensual expression that started slowly and grew to consume his entire face, his eyes lighting up as he saw how needy she was for him.
His smile seemed to give her strength. “Angel, please!” she said, clutching at his arms. “We’re in a bathroom, for pete’s sake,” she said, blushing. It didn’t last long, though, her brain overheating again as his hand between her legs resumed its tormenting movements.
Gently, he placed a finger against her lips. “Don’t worry, baby. It’s fine. The place is empty.”
She clenched her teeth, steeling herself against the euphoria that was about to wash over her. She was not going to have sex in a restaurant bathroom. She had more class than that! She reached down, grabbed his wrist, and jerked it away from her.
“Angel!” she growled through clenched teeth, her eyes flashing. “What if someone comes in?”
He sighed, then brought his now empty hand up toward his mouth and she gasped. “Don’t!” she whispered, knowing that his intended action would drive her over the brink of her lust and she’d be lost, but he didn’t listen. His tongue came out, licking her from his fingers, and she moaned, feeling every swipe of his tongue as if it were affixed on her own skin.
“Sorry,” he said, obviously not meaning it. “I just couldn’t help myself. You just smelled so damn good, baby,” he growled, leaning into her ear for the last word, the vibrations from his deep voice making her shiver.
She could only pant some more.
“Don’t worry,” he said again between kisses to her ear and neck. “I locked the door.”
“That’s not—Oh god,” she said, losing her train of thought as his tongue dipped into her ear.
“Not what?” he said.
She swallowed, then opened her eyes, trying to focus on something. Anything.
Oh, what the hell. She wanted him. Needed him. Who cares where they were? “Nothing,” she said finally, her voice nothing more than a whisper.
His mouth stilled on her for a fraction of a second, then resumed, moving down to the juncture of her shoulder. “Okay,” he said against her neck, and she felt the word all the way to her toes. He licked her skin, right over her his mark, then sucked until the blood rushed even further to the surface. She arched against him, feeling the call of her blood to him, and she’d never been more turned on in her life. Suddenly, she wanted nothing more than for him to bite her again.
“Do it, Angel!” she said, frustrated. “Hurry!”
“No,” he said back. “If I’m going to be biting you, I’m going to do it my way,” he said, and she could hear the determination in his voice. God, what the hell was wrong with him? He’d had no problem with this earlier. When he was dreaming.
Somehow, though, as his hands once again began their exploration, she knew in the more rational part of her mind where his hesitance came from. Biting of any kind meant accessing his demon, unleashing Angelus if only in a small part, and that meant relinquishing some of his tight control. Doing that was dangerous. Very, very dangerous. She’d been playing with fire earlier when she’d bitten him in his sleep, and she was lucky she hadn’t been scorched. Much.
“Angel!” she gasped again as his fingers worked her close to climax. She gripped his shoulders tightly, her tailbone pressing hard into the counter behind her, and she knew if it weren’t for his hands and the counter’s support, she’d be a puddle on the floor right about now.
And then, just when she was about to go over, he backed away, his hand stilling as his eyes found hers. She watched his handsome features shift into the dangerous ones of his demon, his eyes glowing yellow, but no less passionate. Even there, in the depths of his beast, she could see his true feelings.
“I love you, Cordelia,” he said simply, then leaned down and sank his fangs into her skin.
Cordy gasped as she felt the pain, quickly followed by a burst of pleasure that sent her screaming into a powerful climax. His fingers slid deep, touching her inside and out, and her body clutched at him, even as he tasted her desire in her blood.
Angel had to work to avoid losing himself in her taste. Every emotion she was experiencing spiced her blood, making her taste like the finest of wines, heady and intoxicating. He forced himself to pull back, his tongue sweeping out and closing the wound, infusing it with his scent and claiming her as his. He wasted no time in putting his fangs to his wrist, then shifting back into his human features and lifting the wound to her open and gasping mouth.
Cordy’s eyes flew open as she felt the taste of Angel’s blood on her tongue for the second time in one night. She sucked automatically, again marveling at the fact that she loved the heady taste of him. But after just a moment, she stopped herself, her tongue sweeping the wound and closing it.
But it still wasn’t enough.
Scoring his chest with her fingernails, she reached for his jeans and quickly opened his fly, pulling him out and into her hand. He grasped her ass, lifting her up and onto the edge of the counter, then moved closer, aligning himself to her. With one swift thrust, they were one. And just like the last time, they felt whole.
Part 19
“Your left arm is weak, Connor. Protect it!”
Jace’s instruction grated on Connor’s nerves, but he was right. He had been leaving one side unprotected, and Jace was taking advantage of it. Connor already had one good bruise on his side from the blunted tip of Jace’s sword.
Connor did as he was told, and fought back viciously. His hair hung in his eyes, sweat pouring from his temples, and yet he didn’t feel tired. He never felt tired, at least not from fighting. The dreams on the other hand. . .those were becoming exhausting.
Kicking out, Connor planted one foot solidly in Jace’s midsection and sent the older man sprawling, his air escaping in an audible “ooph.” Connor sauntered over to him, balancing on the balls of his feet as he stood near him, waiting for the other man to get up. Jace lay there for a second, winded, amazed yet again that Connor was so powerful. He had to work to keep the grimace from his face as he thought of the treatment Eve had planned for him later this week. A treatment that would make it almost impossible for Connor to defeat him in a one-on-one battle.
“Had enough?” Connor asked calmly, staring down his nose at Jace.
Jace stared up at him, then vaulted to his feet with the grace of a gymnast. He might not be up to the same strength as Connor, but he was still very powerful and agile by human standards. He set himself up across from Connor, and the two men began to circle one another.
Connor stared into Jace’s eyes, realizing for the first time how cold and hard they were. The brown irises had seemed to be full of warmth when he’d first met him, but now, they seemed icy, like frozen mud in winter. Jace smiled at him, a harsh curve of his lips that barely transformed his face, and then lowered his head, looking at Connor from under his heavy brow.
That one look made Connor’s breath catch. A flash of recognition hit him, a minor flash from one of his dreams that stole the air from his lungs and made him stumble backward. He caught himself just in time, schooling his features and tucking the revelation away for another time. He couldn’t think about it now. Even if what he’d just discovered had raised so many questions it made his head spin.
Jace noticed the startled look on Connor’s face, but it was gone so briefly that Jace thought he might’ve imagined it. Whatever it was, Connor didn’t seem to be affected by it. He punched out swiftly, catching Jace by surprise and knocking his jaw so hard that he flew across the room, smacking against the concrete wall, his back popping with a sickening crack. He moaned, but stood his ground, planting his feet solidly and turning to face Connor again. Connor bounded over to him, thrusting with his sword, and they fought for a minute, their weapons clanging in the stillness.
Connor kept everything inside, his face neutral, his eyes in fierce concentration. Jace was nothing but an opponent now. Whatever warm feelings he’d had for the man were beginning to dissipate, and he attacked him as though Jace were the ultimate enemy.
What he really was, Connor had no idea.
Book II: Hope
Hope begins in the dark, the stubborn hope that if you just show up and try to do the right thing, the dawn will come. You wait and watch and work: You don’t give up.
Anne Lamott
True hope is swift, and flies with swallow’s wings;
Kings it makes gods, and meaner creatures kings.
William Shakespeare, “King Richard III”, Act 5 scene 2
Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul.
And sings the tune
Without the words,
and never stops at all.
Emily Dickinson
In the midst of winter, I found there was, within me, an invincible summer.
Albert Camus
If it were not for hopes, the heart would break.
Thomas Fuller
Part 20
Cordelia stared out the window of the Plymouth, the wind tangling her hair. She was excited that Angel hadn’t ever gotten rid of his car. His new fleet of toys had made her think he might’ve gotten rid of it, but he hadn’t. As much as she’d hassled him about his obsession with it, she loved this car. It held so many memories.
Sighing, she looked back into the car and over at Angel’s stoic figure. Ever since they’d left the restaurant, Angel had been quiet. Reflective. Almost broody. She’d sighed, holding his hand in silent support, knowing that he probably wouldn’t talk about it. They’d gone back to his apartment only long enough for him to pack and then had headed north.
Cordelia had put up with Angel’s silence for a little while, but now she was about to tear her hair out from boredom. In the last half hour, she’d tried every conversation topic she could think of, from reminiscing about their past to her stay in Heaven, but none of it had seemed to interest him. Finally, she’d decided to talk about Connor, hoping that his worry for his son would draw him out of his shell.
“So Connor’s been living in San Francisco?” Cordelia asked conversationally.
“Yeah,” Angel said, clearly distracted. Stress had made his fingers grip the steering wheel with a force that should’ve shattered it. As it were, the tough material was used to his super strength and hadn’t cracked yet. “Wolfram & Hart erased his memories and gave him new ones, putting him with a family in the Bay Area. Far enough away that he wouldn’t run into me by accident, but close enough that I could keep an eye on him.”
Close? Cordelia frowned. A five hour drive wasn’t what she’d call close, exactly, but she guessed he’d had a point. Having Connor in L.A. would just be too hard for Angel. Having his son nearby and not being able to see him would be heart-wrenching. It was already hard enough the way it stood.
But things had changed. Cordy sighed, running her fingers through the hair that kept falling in her face as the breeze from the open window whipped around her. The night was beautiful, the coast highway winding and breathtakingly scenic. Off to the west, the Pacific Ocean twinkled in the moonlight as they glimpsed it in a few minute intervals. They were nearing San Francisco, and as the closer they got, the more their apprehension grew.
Angel had been very reluctant to confront Connor. They’d argued about it briefly while he’d been packing. Cordelia had pushed Angel to do it, to walk up to his son and explain that he was in trouble and they were there to help. Angel had argued with her and they’d had their first fight since she’d come back. She’d sighed; it was bound to happen sometime.
“I won’t do that to him,” Angel had said vehemently, his face set in a determined expression. “His parents have just died. He doesn’t need anything else to deal with.”
He’d yanked the zipper on his duffle bag closed with a violent movement, and turned to face her. He’d even closed his stance; his arms were crossed, his jaw clenched, his feet spread wide.
“Angel,” she said, her voice carefully neutral. “The Powers insisted that time is an issue here. If we don’t confront Connor, how are we going to warn him of the danger? For all we know, they could be planning to kill you tomorrow. We need to hurry.”
“I realize that,” he agreed, “but I know Connor. His memories may have changed, but his personality is still intact.”
“Less psycho, I hope,” she said irreverently.
He frowned. “Yes. But he’s still my son. And you of all people know that he inherited some personality traits from me.”
“What?” she asked innocently. “Stubbornness? An inability to trust people? A preference for black clothing?”
He glared at her. “Cordelia, this is serious!”
A sigh escaped her as she reached out her hand to reassure him. “I know, baby, but Connor is different now. He doesn’t remember Quortoth, so he has to be softer. More receptive. We should talk to him. Appeal to his sense of reason. Maybe he’s noticed something not quite right about this guy that’s training him.”
“We won’t know until we see him, Cordy, and I don’t want to just go barging in there without knowing the score.”
In the end, they’d agreed to a few days of surveillance to discover just what was going on, and then they’d reevaluate. Cordelia had been somewhat mollified by this course of action. At least they’d be able to keep an eye on him.
Her need to use the bathroom brought her thoughts back to the present. She glared over at Angel for awhile, willing him to look at her, but he was lost in space, his eyes firmly affixed to the winding road in front of them.
“Are we almost there?” she asked, bouncing in her seat and trying to keep the childish whine out of her voice.
Angel clenched his teeth. She’d asked that question at least once every thirty minutes since they’d left the hotel. “You have the map, Cordelia. You know how far away we are.”
She shot him annoyed glance. “Well, duh, Mr. Smarty Pants. It’s just that some people around here need to stop to pee once in awhile, unlike other self-absorbed vampire types who shall remain nameless.”
“Cordy?”
“What?”
“You want me to stop up here?” He gestured to an illuminated gas station sign at the next exit.
She flashed him a brilliant smile. “Gee, thanks, Angel! How thoughtful of you to come up with that idea totally on your own.”
He made a face at her, but she could tell that some of the tension had eased from his shoulders during their light conversation. “Sure, anytime.”
Part 21
“Where the heck are we?” Cordelia asked, turning the map in her hands upside down, then sideways, as if it would help.
Angel glanced over at her, then back at the road. “We’re near downtown. His address is listed in this area, right?”
She nodded, then grabbed the paper where Angel had jotted down the address Harmony had dug up for him. They’d called the office on the way up north, telling Wesley only that Angel needed to get away for awhile. Nobody knew yet that Cordelia had returned, and Angel wasn’t yet ready to share her. He’d asked to be transferred to his secretary, and after a little bitching and moaning, Harmony had given him the info he needed, just like she always did. It always amazed him how efficient she was for being such an annoying airhead.
“Yeah,” she said in answer to his question. “Just up here. Oh!” she said, bouncing in her seat, then pointing. “There’s the street. Turn quick!”
Angel executed a swift left turn, just barely missing the light as it turned red. A cop on a motorcycle frowned at them as they whizzed past, but they’d been under the line of legality this time. Just barely. Angel slowed immediately, and they both scanned the numbers on the row houses turned apartments nearby.
“What number?” Angel asked, trying to keep one eye on the street and the other on the house numbers.
Cordy consulted her notepad again. “517, Apartment 2C.”
Just as she looked up again, she spotted it. “There it is! The green one. Look, there’s a parking space right there.”
Angel maneuvered the big car effortlessly into the tight space. He shifted it into “park” and looked around apprehensively at the neighborhood.
“You think he’s safe here?” he said, noting all the dark corners on the silent street. “San Francisco’s not exactly a safe place, and he doesn’t have anybody to look out for him here. Don’t you think that—”
Cordy laid her hand on his elbow and his words stopped immediately. She smiled softly, sliding over on the bench seat. Pulling his arm up, she draped it across her shoulder, then snuggled into his side. She kissed his chest, her nose tickled by the soft material on his shirt, then ran her hand up his jean-clad leg.
“He’s fine here. At least for now he is. The neighborhood looks good. Expensive. Rent here must be pricey, so I’m sure he’s totally safe.”
Pausing, she looked up at him and reached her hand out to stroke his jaw with her fingers. Her voice was soft. “He’s a grown man now, Angel. A grown man who’s had a good life, at least as far as he can tell. His new parents raised him well. Wolfram & Hart saw to that. He can handle himself.”
Angel’s muscles relaxed a little under her words and gentle hands.
“Besides,” she added. “He’s your son. Whether he knows it or not, he’s like you, and the men in your family can take care of themselves.”
She smiled in the dark, thinking of Spike. That one definitely had the stubborn, self-preservationist Aurelius streak in him, too. She’d heard about him during her stay in heaven even though she’d tried not to make any ties there. Spike had become a legend when he’d saved the world and for awhile, he was all anyone up there could talk about.
“I’m worried about him,” Angel finally admitted, the his fingers lightly brushing her side as he hugged her close to him. “He’s all I’ve got, Cordy.”
She punched him playfully. “Not anymore!”
Smiling down at her, he kissed her softly. “You’re right. Not anymore. But he’s still my son, and I want to protect him, grown man or not.”
“We’ll keep him safe, Angel,” Cordy promised with a confidence she didn’t feel right now. The Powers had sent her on a mission, but they hadn’t promised success. They expected it, yes. But could she deliver?
Right now she wasn’t sure.