CONFUSE ME

Willow couldn’t sleep. She tried to. Really she did. But every time she closed her eyes, the only thing she saw was him. His strong, muscular arms so secure and comforting against the petite, trembling form of her distraught best friend. His dark, enigmatic gaze locked on her face as she stood atop the dank, dusty warehouse veranda.

It turned her stomach. The sudden jealous, possessive streak she had over him. The pure raw need that clawed its way past her heart. Her soul. Willow didn’t understand it. Couldn’t even begin to wrap her brain around it.

But it was there. Right there. Swimming at the edge of her consciousness. Its heavy weight threatening to undo every single solitary wall she built around herself.

She frowned, tossing back the thick, cotton coverlet on her bed, and slowly made her way toward the closed balcony doors. She reached up, parting the blinds with two fingers, and sighed, wondering not for the first time if he still stood among the shadows of the night. Watching. Waiting. Determined to prove what they said in The Bronze was true.

That she belonged to him. Only him. Just as he said. Just as she vowed.

Yet if what they said were true—what he said were true, why hadn’t he followed her home again? Why hadn’t he checked on her after the kidnapping and destruction of the Master’s bones? Why had he instead insisted on walking Buffy home? Acting as if the Slayer couldn’t be trusted to take care of herself?

Okay, granted, Buffy had been a little out of it. But so what? The rest of them had to, and none of them held superhuman powers of defense. They all lived on the Hellmouth. They all shared the same dark, dangerous secrets of the night. As such, they should all merit the same selfless consideration that Buffy did.

But they didn’t. She didn’t.

Why?

What gave him the right to pick and choose who to coddle and comfort? Who to kiss and caress? Who to lead on and let go? Did he not understand everyone needed it? Everyone deserved it? That she deserved it?

Willow shook her head, dropping her hand from the miniblind, and walked back to the bed, once again crawling beneath the covers and closing her eyes.

She hated feeling like this. Hated the bitterness, the anger, the outraged sense of betrayal.

Angel hadn’t betrayed her. He wasn’t hers to betray. Not really. Because despite his assertions in the Bronze, and her ready acceptance of his words, nothing had changed. Not where it mattered. Where it counted.

His heart, his soul, belonged to Buffy. And it didn’t matter that his body wanted her. Or that hers seemed to want him back. Sooner or later, he would realize what she had known all along.

Being with him was a dream. A fantasy. In the harsh light of day, they’d never measure up. How could they? They were both in love with other people. She might be a lot of things. But stupid wasn’t one of them.

Men like Angel didn’t fall in love with girls like her. Not in the real world. And the real world is what she lived in. No matter how much she sometimes liked to pretend otherwise.

Whatever this thing they started tonight was, she knew it couldn’t last long term. And honestly, she wasn’t sure she would want it to even if it could. They came from two completely different worlds. They had nothing in common. He drank blood, for goodness sake!

Willow shivered beneath the blankets, hating the return of rational thought, and finally forced herself to relax inside the darkness. Giving blind credence to the dreams she knew would eventually plague her sleep.

Angel watched her small form settle against the full-size mattress, his weary mind troubled as he studied her movements through the tiny crack in the edge of her terrace blinds, his vampire hearing easily picking up the sturdy rhythmic beats of her heart as she finally fell into an exhausted sleep.

He frowned, forcing out a rare puff of air, his hand unconsciously straying toward the clear glass panel of the door, and actually felt his heart constrict in his chest. Despite the fact that his brain logically knew it wasn’t possible.

What was it about this short wisp of a girl that brought out the man in him? The creator? The artist?

It had been years since he felt any real need for a pencil and sketchpad. Yet standing outside her bedroom now, watching the subtle rise and fall of her breasts through the door, his fingers itched for the familiarity of the utensils he no longer kept in hand. His silent muse calling to life every erotic image he felt the need to capture.

He shook his head, whole body swaying toward the door, and dropped his forehead to rest against the solid wood frame. He swallowed, hard, desperately fighting the temptation to rap his knuckles on the glass, and shut his eyelids, concentrating on the soothing sounds of her breathing and the unmistakable scent of her growing arousal.

Was she dreaming of him? Imagining his hands on her body? His lips on her skin? His whisper in her ears?

He couldn’t deny his attraction to her. His need for her. And despite the knowledge that it couldn’t last between them, that it couldn’t work, he still found himself more than willing to try.

The passion she raised in him was heady, intense, and went far deeper than he ever thought possible.

He could get lost in it. Drown in it. In her.

That’s why he had to move slow. Tread easy. He couldn’t let himself lose sight of his purpose. His mission. Not now. After all this time.

His demon wanted to possess her. Claim her. Force her to obey his every whim and command.

But that wasn’t who Willow was. Wasn’t what she needed. She wasn’t someone to dominate. To control. She was precious. Unique. And he wanted to protect her. Keep her safe. Even if it meant keeping her safe from him.

She shifted on the bed. He didn’t see it. But he heard it. Felt it. Felt her low, throaty moan calling to the demon inside him, deepening his erotic hunger that much further.

He growled, thrusting himself away from the door, vaulting over the edge of the balcony to land in a predatory crouch on the ground below.

He was losing it. He could feel it. The demon had awakened inside. Clawing its way to the surface without consent. It wouldn’t take much to give in to it. To let the darkness reign.

Yet he knew that he couldn’t. That he shouldn’t.

Willow wasn’t ready for the shadows in which he used to live. None of them were. But if he wasn’t careful, wasn’t stronger, it might make an unexpected appearance. More than ready to swallow them whole. All of them.

Even her. Especially her. His infatuation. His obsession. His…

Willow.

Angel shot to his feet, turning on his boot heel, and headed for home. The demon railed at his sudden restrictions; the man in him shrugged it off.

He would not give in to that darkness again. Not now. Not ever. He would protect his friends and loved ones this time. He’d keep them safe. Even if it meant being forced to chain himself to a basement wall. He would do it. Gladly.

For her. For Willow.

Innocence like that did not need to know the evil that still lurked inside him, and he’d sooner stake himself than ever let its presence known.

Angel just prayed he was strong enough to fight it. If not, everything he’d worked for would vanish before him. Instead of the hunter, he’d become the hunted. Again.

He couldn’t let that happen. No matter how much his demon enjoyed the game, he couldn’t let it out to play. Not even briefly.

But he wanted to. God how he wanted to. And that, more than anything else, terrified him. He wanted the darkness. Craved it.

Just as much as he ever did.

The soul might make it easier to hide from others, but it didn’t erase the desire to possess inside.

It was the desire he now had to fight. The desire to take her. Claim her. Yank her into the darkness. As if she somehow belonged there, by his side.

She didn’t. Couldn’t. And as long as he kept sight of that, everything would be okay.

He hoped.