Angelus was sitting in the very chair from which she had called Giles. Buffy’s gaze flew to the door, which remained locked. The curtains billowing from the window told their own story.

"How did you find me?" she breathed. Even in the depths of terror, she knew better than to scream. Screaming would bring the security guards, and she had no doubt that Angelus would kill each and every one of them, before she could stop him. She watched as he pushed himself out of the chair and stalked toward her. He was dressed all in black once more, one with the night that had always been her destiny. She had tried to escape that destiny from the first, rejecting her Slayer’s calling, yearning for a normal life. Her efforts had been futile, and it was almost fitting that a piece of the night now came to reclaim her. Still, she backed away from him, unthinking of the stake tucked in the pocket of her robe, the rage apparent in his face leaving her numb with fear.

"If I were blind, I would see you," he spat at her. "Did you think, much of your blood as I’ve drunk, that I couldn’t follow, wherever you fled? That I can’t feel you, can’t smell you, a mile away?"

Unbidden, a rush of moisture flooded from her, as her body reacted to her mate’s declaration of how thoroughly she was his. A flare of his nostrils and a sudden glint in his eye made her realize that Angelus could tell what had happened, and that he was pleased. But not appeased: her terror remained unabated. For good reason.

"I--" She didn’t get any further. He landed a blow to her cheek, the force he used almost enough to knock her to the floor. She kept her feet with an effort.

"Shut. Up." he told her savagely. And then, more frightening than his rage, he smiled.

"I gotta tell you, Buff, I was worried. Thought you were just gonna continue to be so damned seductive, so damned enticing, that you weren’t gonna give me the chance to show you how much fun I can have hurting you. So, I’m really glad that you made a run for it. After I was so considerate." His smile faded, the rage returning. "After I put off my own pleasure, for your sake."

Buffy couldn’t afford to give in to her terror. She knew that her life was the least of what was at risk, now. In desperation, she pulled the stake from her pocket, and lunged for his heart. Angelus was almost laughing as he effortlessly sidestepped her, grabbed her wrist and wrenched her arm up behind her.

"Naughty, naughty," he said mockingly, as he wrested the stake from her grasp, tossed it away and threw her to the floor. She refused to stay there. Time to see just how much of her Slayer’s strength had returned. Grimly, she bounded back to her feet and delivered a front kick to his head. He ducked it, caught her ankle, and tossed her back down. She hooked one foot behind his ankle, pulling forward as she jammed the other into his knee, pushing back. She brought him down as well, then sprang up once more, trying to make her way to the nightstand where she’d hidden the other stakes. But he had regained his footing as quickly as she had: she cried out as her headlong dive was arrested when he grabbed her by the hair, pulling her back with a vicious tug. She fought back, sharply jabbing an elbow in his solar plexus while digging the nails of her other hand deeply into the hand holding her hair. The scent of his own blood did nothing to calm him. Roaring in anger, he let go, but she hadn’t gotten more than two steps away before he wrapped his arms around her waist, picked her up, and tossed her back onto the bed. She lost no time rolling away but he only grabbed her back. She was still weaker than she should be, while he seemed stronger than ever. In the end, it took very few minutes before he had her completely pinned. Buffy continued to struggle, desperate to escape the weight of the heavy body crushing her down. Her own body had other ideas, and insisted on continuing to flood with moisture. Her need for freedom and her terror were at war with another, appalling desire: to give up, to yield, to rub herself against the hard flesh pressed against her intimate core, and try to placate the fury she could sense within him. In the end, what she wanted didn’t matter. He simply held on to her as she struggled, until she wore herself out, and quieted beneath him.

She was trembling in fright, her warm, soft flesh shivering deliciously against his. Yet the air was perfumed not only with the adrenaline stench of fear, but with the delectable fragrance of ripening lust. Angelus inhaled deeply, and growled approval, smirking down at his luscious captive. Tears sparkled on her eyelashes, and he was utterly enchanted by the combination of terror, desire and humiliation her so-responsive body expressed. Angelus ground down against her, letting her feel how ready he was to begin her next lesson. She wouldn’t enjoy this one nearly as much as he would, though, and not only because she hadn’t fully healed from his more tender attentions. There would be nothing tender about what he would do to her now, and he might never let her fully heal. He was eager to begin, and wondered how long it would take for the others to play their parts. The phone rang at that moment, as if it, too, obeyed his will. He gave her a malicious smile.

"That’s for you. And, I don’t think you should miss this call." He let her up.

Buffy scrambled to the other side of the bed, as far from him as she could get. She reached for the phone with shaking hands, dreading that she knew exactly who was on the other end of the line.

"Hel--hello?" she managed.

Her fears were realized: Giles’ voice was barely recognizable as he choked out his apology for failing her. She froze, as the sounds being made by the assailants beating him came to her ears. Angelus pulled the phone from her nerveless fingers and, as she huddled in on herself, wracked with sobs, he spoke into it, giving one of his minions very explicit orders for the remainder of Rupert Giles’ torture.

"But don’t kill him," he instructed. "I might need to use him, later." He broke the connection and turned his attention back to Buffy. He retained his human features, but there was no comfort for her in that. He looked cold, remote; his eyes glittered, almost black with malice.

"Let me make this clear to you, darling," the fury she could hear in his voice chilled her to the bone, and when he leaned over her, and stroked her hair with deceptive gentleness, she couldn’t repress a quiver of dread. "I know where all of your little friends live. I know where your mother lives. I still have minions in Sunnydale, and not all of them are vampires. The next time you try to escape, someone you love dies, as unpleasantly as I can manage, and the others will be tortured, as inventively as I can devise." He grabbed her chin, forcing her to look up at him, to stare into the depths of his merciless eyes. "Do you understand?"

"Yes," she whispered, her own eyes huge, tears continuing to fall down her cheeks. Angelus brushed one away with his thumb, smirking down at her. "Now, if only I believed you." he said, shoving her back against the pillows. "If only I thought you’d really learned your lesson. But, you know, Buff, if there’s anything I’ve discovered about you, it’s how stubborn you can be. So, I think I’m going to have to impress upon you just how serious I am about this." He straightened up and moved a few feet back. "Lose the robe, babe." he demanded coldly.

Buffy was shaking violently as she knelt up on the bed, fumbled with the ties of her robe, and slipped it off her body. Angelus watched her, then began to unbutton his shirt.

"A nice display of submission, my love, but very much too little and very much too late. I want so much more than just a display."

"What . . ." she choked, then licked dry lips and tried again, "What do you want?"

"This morning? I wanted to ravish you until you clawed my back bloody and screamed your throat hoarse from the force of pleasure I can bring you. Now? I want to break you." She couldn’t suppress a whimper at the cold ruthlessness of his voice as he said the words. He smiled, satisfied at her reaction, and slowly began to strip off his own clothes as he explained further. "I want you to learn who is master, and I want you to learn what it means to be my slave. I want you to know that you belong to the Scourge of Europe, utterly, completely belong to me, and I want you to learn exactly what that means. And the pleasure, my darling girl," he finished as he retrieved his pants, and began to pull the belt free of the loops, "will be all mine."

Buffy was introduced to an extreme of terror she had never before known. Death at the hands of the Master had not been worse, her belief that Angelus meant to kill her the night he’d captured her had not been worse, than the promise delivered in that velvet, beautiful, terrible voice. There was no possibility of defense, of defiance. The stakes in her nightstand would go unused. This was the very reason why every Slayer before her had kept her identity secret: so that those she loved could not be used as hostages against her. Even if Buffy were at full strength, she wouldn’t try to fight Angelus, now. Not with Giles, her mother, Willow, Xander and Oz vulnerable to Angelus, and beyond her ability to protect. The only thing she could do was yield, surrender, and endure.

And hope she survived the night unturned; that she survived it, at all.

She watched, trembling anew as he wrapped the belt--supple black leather, adorned with a large buckle-- around his hand, leaving the buckle to dangle free at the end. "I think you’d have liked the braided whip better, darling," he said. "It doesn’t do nearly as much damage. But I was kind of in a hurry, and didn’t have time to pack. So, we’ll just have to make do with what we have." He flicked the belt toward her, just grazing her shoulder. She gasped, shocked by how much so light a touch could hurt.

"Off the bed, and on your knees" Angelus ordered. She obeyed instantly. "Now, come here." Buffy understood that she wasn’t to get up, that she was to crawl to him, on her knees. She did so.

"Good girl," he said, stroking her hair gently, before tangling his hands in the blond mass and forcing her head towards his groin. "But not good enough. Suck me off, babe," he demanded.

Buffy unhesitatingly opened her mouth, preparing to slide her lips over the head of his cock, and take him in as far as she could, but this was not the sensuous love play he had encouraged in her before. Angelus ruthlessly held her head still as he pumped his hips forward, fucking her face, shoving his immense length to the back of her throat, gagging her, making her struggle for breath. In sheer self-defense, she tried everything she could think of to make him come, anything to stop the brutal assault that was leaving her choking. Her hands caressed his heavy balls, while she swirled her tongue along his length, then upward to lave the slit in the head, but he wasn’t giving her time to do the things she thought he wanted. The only thing he really wanted was her terror and her pain.

Her helplessness, her despair and fear aroused him to fever pitch, and he was unwilling to let things end too quickly. He held back his release until she was whimpering, tears streaming from her eyes as she struggled for breath. He considered letting himself spill into her mouth, but that would mean he’d have to wait for the next little lesson, and he wasn’t in the mood. Abruptly, he pulled himself out of her mouth, and pushed her away.

"Crawl back to the foot of the bed, my love. Then stand up, spread your gorgeous legs, and bend over, grasping the posts at either end of the foot board." The position he demanded left her vulnerable to so many things he could do to her, not least of which was to leave her back, rear, and thighs available for the cruel kiss of his belt. Buffy continued to shudder and weep, but for the sake of those she loved, she didn’t dare disobey.

A moment later, she gasped anew as steel handcuffs secured each wrist to the bedpost. Angelus tugged on her hair again, lifting her head so that he could whisper into her ear.

"You are going to be as quiet as a little mouse, lover. I don’t want to be disturbed. For every scream you make, someone here in the hotel will die, in as much anguish as I can contrive, and I think you know that I can contrive a lot. If you cry out, and a guard comes, I will gut him in front of you, and take you in his blood. And if the management is called, or if the police interfere, I will burn this place to the ground, and every living soul inside. Are we clear, darling?"

"Yes," she breathed, as new vistas of horror opened before her. She had absolutely no illusions about his ability to follow through on his threats.

He let go of her hair and her head fell forward to the bed once more. She wondered where he was going to strike first. She didn’t have long to wait.

The belt buckle bit into the tender flesh of her rear, and Buffy bit into the coverlet on the bed, trying to stifle her cries.

"That’s right, darling, quiet as a little mouse," Angelus taunted as he brought the belt down across her back.

Buffy was a Slayer. She was built to take a lot of damage. Angelus seemed determined to find out just how much. A dozen blows rained down on her in quick succession as she squirmed and tried to suppress the screams that wanted to burn their way past her throat. She sobbed into the bed, trying to keep herself as quiet as possible, desperately frightened of what Angelus would do if she disobeyed his edict that she not scream. He enjoyed that, and whispered encouragement, telling her he loved her pretty tears, loved listening to her pretty sobs.

He beat her until her she felt the skin break, and blood leak in a thin stream down her back and across her thighs.

"Charming," she heard Angelus whisper as he came closer.

He licked the blood from her back, his tongue rough, rather than soothing, as if he were trying to keep the wounds open and bleeding for as long as possible. Buffy cried harder.

When the bleeding stopped, he stepped away from her again. The next blow that fell struck across her quaking thighs, and she could feel a difference: he had switched the end of the belt he was using, and was no longer cutting her with the buckle. For a moment, she didn’t understand such seeming mercy.

Then the first stroke of leather hit, oh so lightly, up through her parted thighs, to score her tender, vulnerable femininity. Buffy nearly howled as a hideous bolt of delight shot through her, tempered by a burning agony.

Angelus was not merely a master of pain, and a master of pleasure, he was a master at the exquisite balance between both, and of the art of turning one to the other. He was giving Buffy her first lesson in that dark art.

Fire licked up between her thighs, the pressure of the leather stinging yet arousing. She sobbed as Angelus alternated blows to her back, rear and thighs with strokes against her womanhood, until her overwrought nerves couldn’t tell the difference between torment and tantalization. Before he was through, Buffy welcomed the pain for the sake of the building rapture, craving the delicate assaults of the belt striking up between her legs, setting her afire with need. Each carefully delivered blow--he knew the exact pressure to apply, the precise angle at which to strike--burned with a dreadful sweetness, bringing her closer and closer to the edge. Twenty minutes after he had begun, Buffy reached her first orgasm of the night on the end of his belt, as her own blood dripped between her thighs. Only when he had succeeded in making her come despite the hurts he inflicted did Angelus dispense with the whipping.

As the aftershocks of her release faded, Buffy began crying in earnest, humiliation washing over her. Angelus walked to his sobbing captive, and surveyed his handiwork admiringly. She was shuddering so badly, that she could no longer stand unsupported. She had collapsed on the bed, her shapely legs dangling over the side. A lovely lace of thin, bleeding cuts adorned her back, buttocks and thighs, and she was beginning to bruise in the most gorgeous shades of rose and black and purple. Buffy was crying harder than ever, but not, he was certain, as much as he could yet make her cry. Grinning, Angelus sat on the floor beneath her, arranging her legs so that he could rest comfortably between them, his back against the bed. Her succulent femininity was displayed before him, vulnerable to his attentions. The little pearl he loved to tease was covered with his favorite sauce, tempting him with a delicate sheen of red, and he settled himself to feast.

Angelus wrapped his hands around her hips and pulled them forward to his face. He licked up the blood on her thighs, the blood weeping from her abused clit, and then he abused her clit some more. He licked hard and fast, stimulating every nerve the sensitive bundle had to offer, until Buffy was writhing in his arms, moaning in a mix of despair and rapture. He paid special attention to the bruises caused by the belt, worrying the flesh that had been swollen and torn by the leather. He ran his tongue soothingly over the abrasions, making her gasp and whimper and moan. But she didn’t try to pull away. Oh, no. His darling girl pressed closer, offering him more, welcoming each tender lick and vicious nip. With the little mewling cries that he adored, she moved her hips rhythmically against his questing tongue, abetting the things he did to her, enabling him to work her toward orgasm. When he felt her stiffen and convulse in the throes of passion, he let his demon lose, and sank his fangs into her clit, savoring the heady mix of Slayer’s blood and Buffy’s completion as it poured down his throat. From the way she arched herself into him, he knew that her response was all he could desire, and that her climax had been intensified by the sharpness of his bite.

Someday, he thought, he would make her climax from his bite alone, make her crave the pain and sharpness as much as he craved the raw fire of her blood. But for now, he contented himself with nursing delicately at her abraded flesh, wringing each nuance of satisfaction from her body that he could elicit with teeth and tongue. Only when she was limp and spent in his arms did he move away, getting to his feet and standing above her once more.

Buffy shivered as Angelus traced one finger delicately over the lacerations on her back. She was shocked by her own response to him, by how much pain he could inflict upon her, and how quickly he could turn that pain to excruciating ecstasy. The worst thing about what was happening wasn’t the fear for her loved ones, or the way she was being hurt. No. The worst thing was how much she wanted what he was doing to her, how much she wanted to appease his anger, and move him to tenderness, that she might again enjoy his gentler embrace.

Except that she wasn’t sure he would ever show her gentleness, again. Her attempt to escape had awoken the cruelty and viciousness germane to his demon nature. He was clearly enjoying brutalizing her, and might never stop. The thought of what her captivity might become unnerved her, and she wept helplessly.

Angelus savored the sight of his delicious prize trembling before him. The taste of her blood was fresh in his mouth, the scent of it lingering on the air, arousing him anew. He undid the cuffs holding her to the footboard, and pulled her shaking, injured body up onto the bed, so that she lay on her belly. She was an irresistible beauty, and he had neither the inclination nor the need to resist. Angelus moved over her torn body, waiting for her sobs to quiet.

"Get on your knees, my love," Angelus said, smiling in satisfaction as she forced her unsteady legs to obey. An arm like a band of iron came around her waist, holding her still. He rubbed himself against her, nipping lightly at her neck, enjoying her quivers of mixed terror and desire. He eased inside her wet core, and gave a few shallow thrusts, making her moan, as he coated himself in her lush moisture. Then he pulled out, and she hissed in distress as he shifted, forcing himself inside her tight back passage. He wasn’t being gentle, and whatever lubrication her own body had provided wasn’t enough for what he was doing. Buffy bit her lips to keep back the cry his rough entry caused, but she wasn’t entirely successful. He heard and chuckled. He wanted her to do it again. Angelus slammed his pelvis against her bruised rear end, and rode her hard. Buffy was soon sobbing once more. He was tearing her, and she could feel her blood begin to make it easier for him to saw in and out of her body, easier for him to pound into her. The assault left her with a burning sensation, as if she were being split apart. She couldn’t imagine reaching climax from such treatment, this time.

He soon showed her the paucity of her imagination.

He ignored her clit, which was too damaged from his earlier torture. Instead, one hand fondled her full breasts, while a finger of the other slid into her tight core, rubbing up inside her. Buffy’s sobs of anguish began to turn into mewls of something other. Her lover was filling her completely, his finger stroking in counterpoint to the punishing thrusts of his steel-hard manhood. He quickly added a second finger, then a third, stretching her as much as she could bear. Hardly enough for him: he would always force her limits. A fourth finger joined the others, and she sobbed anew as her burgeoning rapture became tinged with pain. But he was relentless, giving her no respite, forcing her tiny body to accommodate his whim. Soon, the rapture returned, despite the brutality of what he did to her. Soon, she was gasping and bucking beneath him, matching him, willingly impaling herself completely on his manhood and the tormenting fingers. Angelus growled in satisfaction as she once more came apart in his arms. As she hit her peak, the fingers at her breast turned cruel, twisting and pinching her nipples. To his delight, the pain didn’t curtail her orgasm, and she continued to climax, her body squeezing his cock so hard he thought he’d burst. This time, he decided he had waited long enough for his own release. Knowing that after the lovely contractions of her release subsided, pleasure would turn to discomfort once more, he waited until her whimpers assured him she’d reached that point, then forced her flat to the mattress. He followed her down, the weight of him on her bruised back forcing her to tangle her hands in the coverlet, and bite into the pillow to keep back her screams.

He sawed in and out of her trembling body ruthlessly, now intent only upon his own satisfaction. As he felt his pleasure crest, he sank his fangs into her jugular, and took a few rough, greedy gulps of her blood. There was no pleasure for her in this act. Only the agony he desired her to feel. But, she endured it beautifully.

The spill of his cold seed soothed the burning inside her. She shivered, wishing she could be sure he was now satisfied, and that her ordeal was over. But, she knew it for a vain hope. When his release was complete, he pulled out of her with uncaring savagery, eliciting another faint whimper from her.

Angelus was enormously pleased with her responsiveness. Hurting her, making her climax even as he degraded and tore her, was even more intoxicating than he had ever imagined it could be. Tonight had reminded him of what he was, and he decided to dispense with the more tender approach he had been taking with her these past few days. That had been lovely, but this--he was born for this, and she had been born for it, as well, his to dominate and torment. Damn, he had forgotten just how much a bit of sadism enlivened his bed play. He wouldn’t forget that again. He had always reveled in torturing his victims, and Buffy was so much more than a mere victim. She was has utter and complete slave, his match: an erotic delight able to endure so much more of the punishment he loved to inflict than a fragile, human victim. Buffy was a passionate, delectable creature with whom he could amuse himself endlessly, far more delightful than the other human females who usually died before he could really let loose. She could take what he dished out as well as a vampiress might, but she didn’t have the natural immunity to such things that a vampire female would have. Nor did she quite have a vampiress’ appetite for it yet. But, he could tell she could be taught that, and under his tutelage, she would soon learn. In many ways, she was the perfect toy, the perfect pet, the perfect object for his darkest desires. The mere thought of all the things he was going to do with his darling little slave was enough to make him hard again.

Buffy whimpered as Angelus pushed her over onto her back. She could feel her cuts opening up again, as he covered her once more.

He entered her without preamble, thrusting hard and fast. As she rocked with him, following the rhythm he set, she felt the wounds open further, bleeding more freely. She was terrified that she would be unable to suppress her screams this time.

Then his fanged mouth closed over her own, bruising her tender lips, and she allowed herself the release of crying out into his mouth.

Her suffering was as intoxicating as her submission. Angelus was incited to frenzy, pounding her into the mattress, ravaging her lips. For a moment, she hoped he might spill quickly, and that she wouldn’t have to endure much more. Then he pulled back with a snarl, slowing his pace, and she knew he was going to draw this out as long as he could. She wondered what it would take to satisfy him this time.

In the end, nothing would satisfy him but her complete and utter humiliation.

Angelus fucked her until she was raw and bleeding, and still unable to resist the orgasm he could wring from her. By the time he was through with her, she had forgotten why she wasn’t supposed to scream, but it no longer mattered because she simply didn’t have the strength to scream very loudly. The best she could manage was a wail as much of fulfillment as of despair, as she reached another blood-soaked peak in his arms.

Finally, after what seemed hours, he made an end of things. Angelus poured himself into her with a howl of release, and she was almost grateful to feel his cold seed flood her, his fangs pierce her neck. She had survived the punishment he’d meted out. Giles was alive. Her friends were safe. She almost didn’t mind as his fingers coaxed one last response from her own abused flesh, and she gifted him with her last climax.

When it was over, she was too exhausted to move. She couldn’t even reach for the coverlet, to pull it over her chilled body when Angelus left her to use the bathroom. She wanted to drift off to sleep, wanted nothing more than to lose herself in the healing dark of unconsciousness. But, she was afraid to do so, until he came back to the bed and she was sure of his mood. For all she knew, he would demand that she sleep at the end of the bed, like a favored bitch at the feet of her master. He might even force her to sleep on the floor. That would be almost mild compared to everything else he had done. It wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility that he would have her get dressed, and return to their hidden retreat, so that they would be safely ensconced there before dawn.

As it happened he did none of those things.

Angelus prowled back to the bed like a sleek, satisfied cat.

"Good. You’re awake," he said pleasantly. "I’m really glad you took your first lesson so well." He bent down and retrieved his pants from the floor, checking the pockets for something. Buffy didn’t have the strength to lift her head and see what he held. Sensing that, he came closer, and showed her. She gasped in horror. "Time for your second lesson," he said as he flicked open the deadly little jackknife, and drew it lightly between her breasts and down her belly, watching hungrily as the lovely blood beaded to the surface of the thin line.

Buffy felt the scream burn its way out of her throat. She shut her eyes, trying to block out the torture . . .horror. . . terror. . . nightmare. . .

"Sssshhhhhhh, Buffy, it’s all right. It’s over, my love," a voice said soothingly in her ear.

The voice was not that of Angelus.