Part 3
Cordelia sighed, a slight ruffling of the air that fluttered stray ends of her hair and moved the quiet stillness of the room. Her neck throbbed in a rhythmic cadence that threatened to drive her nuts. She steadfastly ignored it, and sighed again.
It was getting worse.
It had been a week since Angel dusted Sebastian, and the bite hadn’t diminished at all in size. What was worse, it hadn’t healed at all, either. She still had two gaping wounds in her neck that seemed determined to drive her insane. Every sense was heightened. Every smell seemed stronger, every color seemed richer, every sound seemed louder. It was as if she’d always gone through life with veil over her head, and suddenly it had been removed.
Not only that, but her hormones were crazy. She’d gone to wearing soft cotton all the time now because anything rougher against her skin drove her crazy. She stayed away from any rough surface, because all she wanted to do was rub up against it. She stayed away from her coworkers, especially Angel, because all she wanted to do was throw herself in their arms, anyone’s arms, and rub her skin against theirs in the hopes that it would ease some of the painful ache inside.
Nothing worked, and she’d tried just about everything. Well, almost everything. She wouldn’t let herself consider the possibility of letting Angel. . . no, she couldn’t go there. Not even in her own thoughts.
Tearing herself away from her thoughts, Cordelia forced herself to focus her eyes on the man in front of her. Wesley was talking; she should probably listen. He’d found the demon from her vision this morning: A six-breasted, scary looking monster called Sorealus the Ravager.
She straightened her shoulders and shook away the frustration-induced cobwebs in her brain.
Thankfully, Wesley was too preoccupied with his fascination with Fred to notice the decline in Cordelia’s behavior of late. Glad for the diversion from her jumbled emotions, Cordy sat down across from him and smiled.
Wesley hedged a bit about his obvious feelings for Fred, and Cordy thought a taste of reality would be good for him, a reminder of the past they’d shared to set things in perspective.
“You know, there was a time when you thought I was the loveliest thing in the world,” she told him, a teasingly wry smile on her face.
Wesley had the grace to look embarrassed. “Well, I—“ he stopped, obviously trying to find the most tactful way to say that he wasn’t slavering over her anymore. “You’re an extraordinary woman.”
He paused, and Cordy looked at him like she didn’t believe him. As he tried to find more to say to make her feel better, she decided to take pity on him.
“At ease, soldier. I just like to hear it every now and then.” Her tone was wry, the implication obvious that she felt unnoticed lately.
“I was the ditziest bitch in Sunnydale, could’ve had any man I wanted, and now here I am, all superhero-y and the best action I can get is an invisible ghost whose good with a loofah.” Whoops, she didn’t mean to say that part. Inwardly, she sighed. It figured. She was so freakin’ hot all the time lately, with this bite buzzing in her neck. She got relief where she could, even if it was with Dennis and a bath accessory. Any other option for getting this bite taken care of was not on the menu, and a girl had to make some compromises for the sake of sanity.
She apologized to Wesley for her slip with her chagrined expression.
He smiled, then turned away and lifted his chin the air. “I’m sorry, I missed that last part.”
“You are a gentleman,” she said with a thankful smile.
“Who’s doing what with the loofah?” Angel’s voice behind her startled her into turning around.
Cordy tried not to think of Angel as a substitute for Dennis in that situation. She tried really, really hard, but she couldn’t get the image out of her mind. She was lucky that Wesley saved her hide by coming up with some lame excuse, but she interrupted him before he could finish. Turning to Angel, she tried to act nonchalant.
“So, you went with the dark colors today,” she joked, touching his shirt, craving some form of touch between them.
Angel ignored her question, unaware of the struggle inside her. “Ask me why I’m smiling.”
She had to hold back her own smile at his excitement. “I will, because you’re scaring me.”
“We,” he said, pulling an envelope from his back pocket, his grin stretching off his face, “are stepping out.”
***
“Is it going to be all right?” Angel’s tone conveyed his worry. “Is there a stain?” He peered behind him, as if he could see over his own shoulder to the back of his tux jacket.
Behind him, Lorne scrubbed furiously. “Relax, Crumbcake. I’ve got this soda water working overtime.”
Angel looked less than convinced, as if his nerves were frayed beyond measure and this last-minute kafuffle only served to pulverize them.
Lorne continued his frantic cleaning. “Little Connor burps like a champ,” he praised lightly.
“At least he’s asleep,” Angel said, glad for some small measure of good fortune. With the way Cordelia was acting lately, he didn’t need any further complications.
“Well who wouldn’t?” Lorne answered. “That sweet Irish lullaby you crooned. Just a hair flat on the bridge though.” He laughed to soften the complaint.
He stopped scrubbing long enough to come around and catch Angel’s gaze. “More to the point: Cordelia?”
Angel looked at him in question. “What about her?” He tried to sound innocent, but he knew he wasn’t fooling anyone. It was all about her. Especially lately. Angelus’s damn obsession was becoming intrusive.
Lorne laughed dryly. “I read you while you were singing, you big corn muffin. And uh, I can’t say as I blame, I mean, what a woman she’s become.”
Angel tried to hide the irritation that rose up within him at Lorne’s observation. He couldn’t just be friends with Cordelia when his demon was even ruining his aura for Lorne to read. Time to change the subject.
“You’re not supposed to be reading me,” he challenged. “Anyway, you read me wrong.” Damn straight. No way was Angel actually in love with Cordy. This was his demon. Not the soul.
Definitely not the soul.
“Sorry, Strudel,” Lorne broke it to him. “It’s not just when you’re singing. We’ve got a term back in Pylea. Kyreumption?”
Angel frowned at him, sitting down to put on his shoes. “I know it,” he snapped. God, this was getting out of control. First Fred, now Lorne? His friends really needed to learn how to mind their own business.
“Okay!” Lorne said defensively, then continued to explain. “When two great heroes come together—”
Angel interrupted him vehemently. “There will be no ‘coming together,’ okay? Everything we’ve been through and all everybody wants to talk about is—”
“Can’t fight kyreumption, Cinnamon Buns.” Lorne shook his head as it was his turn to interrupt. “It’s fate. It’s the stars! Kyreumption is—”
“Stop!” Angel had had enough. It was bad enough that he had to put up with his demon’s gushing over Cordelia day and night; he shouldn’t have to take this from his friends, too. It was a pure case of lust, that was it. Nothing more. Really.
It was his demon that was being lured by the siren’s song that Cordelia was broadcasting this last week. The way she moved, fluid grace personified, tilting her head just so, at an angle that made those two damn bite marks stand out like twin spotlights beckoning him. It was his demon, damn it. Not his soul.
“Stop saying that,” Angel continued. “And stop calling me pastries.”
He walked away from Lorne and strode across the room, rubbing the back of his neck. Okay, so maybe Lorne had a point. This friendship with Cordelia had deepened, and it was only sheer willpower that was keeping him from crossing the line into agreement with his demon’s fantasies about her.
And he did love her. He loved her a lot. He just wasn’t in love with her.
At least he didn’t think so.
Lorne wasn’t helping very much. “You’re a man of many limitations, Angel, but you’re a man,” he reminded him. “You’ve got a heart. And Cordelia’s a helluva lady. I mean, if I thought she’d like to wear green I’d be elbowing you out of the way,” he laughed. “But she’s out of my league. She’s a champion, Angel. Old school. And besides, we all know you’ve got a thing for ex-cheerleaders,” he ended, then guffawed at his own joke.
Angel ignored the annoying giggle and finally allowed himself to contemplate the truth of Lorne’s words. Did he? Have a thing for her? His soul, too, and not just his demon?
Nawww. . . no way.
Wait.
Oh, god.
It scared him that the thought echoed with a huge boom of truth in his mind as he mulled the possibility. But even if he did. . .
“What have I got to offer her?” he asked the demon despondently.
“Do I even have to answer that?” Lorne scoffed as if Angel was a ditz. “You just have to act, Angel. You’ve gotta let her know what’s brewing inside, because it’s real, and you don’t want to miss that shot.”
Lorne’s words hit an exposed nerve. His life was a succession of missed chances, one right after the other, all because of the circumstances of his existence. Okay, so say, hypothetically, that he was in love with her. What then? It wasn’t like he could give her a good life.
“Lorne,” he began, his voice despondent. “Cordelia, she’s—”
“She’s what?” Cordy’s voice came from behind, and the two men whipped around to see her.
Cordy stood in the doorway, a vision in deep brown evening wear, posing seductively against the frame. Her hair was pulled up, exposing the delicate arch of her neck, and Angel’s eyes were immediately drawn to the exposed bite mark. She wore the marks as if she were proud of them. They weren’t hidden in any way, and Angel couldn’t help but wish again that he could replace them with his own. If she belonged to anyone, she belonged to him.
She held the pose for a moment, then pulled away from the doorframe and walked toward him.
“I was just saying that you’re not much of a ballet fan,” Angel hedged, his eyes traveling over her beautifully appointed figure, the curves flaunted in such a way as to make heat spread through him at the sight of her.
Lorne was just as affected by her beauty, despite his earlier protestations. “Forget everything I just said. I forgot how homely she was,” he deadpanned, laughing.
Angel knew he should pay her a compliment, but no words seemed to do justice to the vision she presented.
“You look like. . .” he trailed off, and she picked up the sentence.
“Like a ballet fan?” She walked closer. “An aficionado? A devotee, in fact?”
She stopped in front of him, reaching up to adjust his bow tie as she spoke, sending bolts of lust through him at her nearness. “Tonight I’ve decided we don’t have to be our incredibly dreary selves. Tonight we’re just a couple of young sophisticates, enjoying an evening of classical dance.”
She flashed him one of her signature smiles, and Angel’s thoughts fled him, save one: Oh, god, I am in love with her. And his life suddenly fell apart and had profound meaning, all in the same instant.
She continued, oblivious to the thoughts in Angel’s brain. “How does that sound?” she glanced over at Lorne, giving Angel enough time to school his features and shove the revelation further within, to process later.
“Sounds just right,” he smiled softly at her.
She smiled back, and he realized he was in deep shit. He’d been blaming this on his demon, and all the while, his soul had been the lovesick puppy.
Part 4