Part Two (word count: 1369)
Hundred year-old memories teased the back of his mind. Twisting the pointed stake of guilt further and further inside his chest. Looking at the bleach blond vampire before him was like looking into a mirror of the past.
Every death.
Every torture.
Every sin.
They were an unwanted reminder of the life he lived before.
Where he would do anything. Be anything. Be anyone.
The Scourge of Europe.
That name had brought fear into the hearts of entire villages. Men, women, children, they ran for their lives. Fearing the destruction and slaughter that he and his cohorts would bring.
Angel could still hear the screaming in Galway and Rome. The rush of blood. The thrashing hearts.
It made him sick. The lengths he had gone to kill someone. To make them suffer. Beg for mercy. Cry for freedom.
Their death was his art. His greatest achievement.
Or so he once thought.
What a difference a soul and a century could make.
And yet, a part of him relished the pain. Cherished the pleasure he derived from the hunt. The satisfaction from the kill. A part of him longed to do it all over again. To teach his vampire offspring and their cousins the true nature of a demon. Introduce them all to the art of a real master.
Master Angelus.
Angel frowned, annoyed at his own thoughts, and then froze, his eardrums picking up the faint sound of a racing heart. Willow. He shook his head, praying she got the hint not to interrupt by opening the front door, and forced himself to focus his full attention on the vampire still leaning against a neighborhood streetlight.
He crossed his arms over his chest, finally stepping off the porch, and leveled the blond with his best glare. “What are you doing here, Spike? And more importantly, were you following us from the Bronze?”
The other vampire shrugged, lifting a half smoked cigarette to his lips. Cobalt blue eyes danced with merriment as he tilted his head to the side, his shuttered gaze locking on the closed front door. “’S a cute little bint ya got there, Angelus. Wasn’t expectin’ her to live long, but…you always did know how to surprise a bloke, yeah?”
“Stay away from her, Spike,” Angel warned, lowering his arms back to his sides, closing the distance between them. “She’s off-limits. To you and every other vampire in this town.”
Annoyed blue eyes shot back to his face. “That the way of it then, is it, mate? Layin’ laws now?” He snorted, drawing in another long, languid pull of nicotine; he forced it out in one harsh puff of air. “There was a time when you and I would have drained that li’l bit dry without a single word spoken between us.”
“That was then,” Angel ground out, backing out of the wave of smoke. “This is now.”
Spike smirked, stepping closer, stopping less than a foot away. “’S not so long ago, mate. A bloody drop in a bucket, that.” He tilted his head again, his shrewd gaze studying, questioning. “So what’s the story, Angelus? How’d the silly bint get you as her knight in tarnished armor? Her blood that good, is it? Or maybe it’s that hot, sprite little body of hers, snuggling up close to those manly bits, yeah?”
Angel slid into game face, shoving the other vampire against the street pole with a hard arm across the windpipe. A low, dangerous growl erupted from his lips as he forced out, “You touch one hair on her head, Spike, and family or no, your body will be left to burn in the sunrise.”
“That a threat, mate? Should I be quakin’ in my boots? Shakin’ in fear over havin’ upset the great and mighty Angelus?” Spike tossed his half-smoked cigarette onto the grass, his demon eyes never leaving Angel’s face. “Not bloody likely.”
Roughly, he tore Angel’s arm away from his throat, pushing until he worked himself free of the pole, back toward the house. “Face it, mate. You’ve changed. So have I. ‘M not so easy to bend to your will anymore. Got years of soddin’ torture under my belt now. Best be rememberin’ that.”
Spike pursed his lips, obviously disgusted by the sight of him. “You care about the bint, don’t ya, you Poofter? That’s why she isn’t dead yet. You like this human girl, yeah?”
Angel narrowed his eyes, shifting his face back to human. “How I feel about Willow is none of your business, Spike. And if you’re smart, you won’t mess with that.”
“Well, that’d be up to the lady then, wouldn’t it?” His grin widened, his eyes once again zeroing in on the door. He took a few steps toward it, earning him another growl from Angel, of which of course he ignored. “Li’l Red looks a might fun. Just ripe for the takin’, I’d wager.”
“Spike, I’m warning you…”
“Warnin’ me?” He scoffed, sending a hard gaze shifting back to Angel’s face. “I’m not afraid of you, you stupid git. Every soddin’ bloke from here to China’s heard about your fall from grace, mate. How the great Angelus got cursed with a soul. Tragic tale, that. Trappin’ all that evil behind a curtain of white. Makes a bloke right sick, it does.
“But I s’pose it’s only fittin’,” he continued, completely unfazed by Angel’s half step closer. “All that mental torture you inflicted over the years. Kinda poetic you get hit back with some, yeah?”
Spike turned on his heel, striding back toward the street from which he came, and cast a quick look over his shoulder. “By the way, Peaches, ‘fore I forget and all, Dru says to tell her Daddy hi.”
