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Dark Domain

Chapter 1

‘We’ll have cards made. Announcements.’ Darla paused as if considering the layout and look of the proposed calling cards. With a complacent smirk she continued her pacing. ‘We shall be the grandest family in London.’

‘In England.’ Angelus stretched and scratched, admiring the turn of Darla’s leg as she strolled across the room.

‘In the known world! Just think, Darling, if the Grand Duke chooses our little Dru, we’ll be the Sires of the companion of the most powerful demon in Europe. We’ll be elevated to the finest echelons of the nobility.’

‘I don’t need any bastard Frenchie’s approval or elevation!’

‘Austrian, Angelus. The Grand Duke is from Austria-Hungary.’

‘Who cares? He has a big dick, and he wants a pretty little thing to sit on it while he’s in London.’

Darla sat elegantly at her writing desk, toying with a pen. ‘She’ll face some stiff competition.’

Angelus snorted and considered bothering himself with a pun but couldn’t be bothered. ‘She’ll be the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.’

Darla, perhaps less confident about Drusilla’s attractions, pouted prettily. ‘I think we’ll need to ensure that she appeals to his superstitious nature….’

‘He’s a Goddamned vampire!’

‘And you’re never superstitious, I suppose!’

‘Aye, well. I’ll be damned if I’ll get excited about prostituting my childe for some Frenchie upstart who thinks he’s some kind of new demon monarchy.’

‘Tosh. We need this, Angelus. We need this kind of patronage.’

Angelus swung off the bed and scratched again. ‘When does his High and Mighty Dukedom arrive?’

‘A week—if the journey is as expected.’

‘I hope the damn ship sinks and takes him and all his bum-lickers to the bottom of the Channel.’

‘I think I’ll have Dru’s hair dressed in the new fashion we saw in Bath last month; what do you think?’

Suppressing a shudder, Angelus went out to find the new Childe to accompany him on his evening’s hunt.

* * * * * * *

‘Angelus!’

Angelus grunted, pulled a pillow over his head and curled away from the screech. Something hit him, so he turned, conciliatory. ‘What, my love?’

She threw a letter on the bed then immediately picked it up and began stabbing at parts, as she read in indignant fury. ‘He’s dead! Staked!’

‘Who?’

‘Who do you think? The fucking Arch Duke.’

Angelus sat up, curious. ‘Staked.’

She curled her lip and said with ill-feigned disgust, ‘A duel of honour—with wood tipped foils.’

‘Jesus.’ He returned to the warmth of the indentation and prepared to return to sleep. ‘That’s that then.’

‘His brother’s succeeded him and is coming in his place.’

Angelus sighed. ‘Damnation! All dicks are the same, Darla, when all is said and done.’ He hesitated and added, ‘Except mine, of course.’

‘It’s taken me three weeks to get Drusilla to understand that she’s not being mated to a hungry ostrich! How the fuck am I going to explain this?’

Not sure he liked Darla’s increasingly colourful language, Angelus considered curbing her tongue in interesting and inventive ways. Stirring to the thought alone, he smiled and made a playful lunge for her. She sidestepped neatly and banged the letter once more. ‘I will not let this steal what is rightfully ours!’

Angelus fell back with a theatrical sigh. ‘How long do you have?’

‘He’ll be here in two weeks.’

‘Don’t tell her there’s been any change. She won’t notice.’

Clearly tempted, Darla was about to reply when one of the servants knocked timorously on the door and handed her another letter.

She took it with a distracted air and tore it open, pacing and running through in her mind the things she still needed to do.

Her eyes scanned the paper, not taking in the words.

She read again.

She frowned and reread it.

Silently she handed the letter to Angelus and walked to the window, her back a study in tense fury.

After a suitable interval she turned back. ‘Well?’

Angelus was studying the paper with great concentration. She sighed and marched back, snatching it from him. ‘All dicks, as you so charmingly put it, are not the same—apparently!’

‘Uh?’

‘The new Arch Duke doesn’t want a female companion while he’s in London.’

‘Good! I’m sick of hearing about the whole damn affair.’

‘No. He wants… a man.’

‘A—What?’

She leant close to his face, almost spitting. ‘He’s a deviant, Angelus! He only fucks men!’

‘Oh… shit.’

‘Exactly.’

‘Come to bed, Darla. There’s nothing to be done with the sorry situation now.’

She began to pace once more. Just as Angelus was dropping off to sleep, she said very distinctly, ‘William.’

‘Who? I mean, what?’

‘William. We’ll offer him William instead of Drusilla.’

Angelus laughed then sobered. ‘You’re serious!’

‘Never more so. It’s perfect. He’s perfect.’

Angelus had thought many things about his tiresome new childe; that he was perfect was not one of them.

Seeing that he was about to argue some more, Darla slyly changed tack. ‘No… what was I thinking? He’d never do it. ’

Angelus bristled and postured. ‘He’ll do as he’s damn well told!’

She smiled sweetly. ‘My darling boy.’

* * * * * * *

However much he may have postured to Darla, Angelus did not relish his confrontation with William. Somewhere, deep in his gut, he felt guilty. He was a man—had been—just as William was—had been—and some things men should not have to do. He wouldn’t do it himself. Shouldn’t all great leaders be willing to do anything they asked of their men? Angelus fancied himself a leader and thought of himself as a man, but he didn’t feel much like either as he stomped down to the kitchens of the great house they were currently occupying.

William, however, was gone.

Nothing stayed private in a house of servants and minions. William had heard of the change of… emphasis… and had taken off.

Drusilla, crying, said he’d gone to live on the moon. Angelus gritted his teeth and began to track him to his far more prosaic hiding place.

It took him three days, but he finally located him in Dover, where it appeared he’d gone with thoughts of fleeing to the Continent. A trail of bloodied corpses, tortured and dismembered in ways that were clearly indicative of the thoughts uppermost in the boy’s mind, led Angelus to an inn near the docks that boasted of its fine ale and good food.

He hung in the shadows for a while, watching this new childe. He’d been in the family for less than two months, and Angelus had barely had time to learn his name, let alone imprint any sort of familial stamp upon his personality. And that was the crux of the problem, really: personality. William had too much of it, and it burst out in all in the wrong directions… at the wrong times… with the wrong people. Many hunts had been ruined by William’s odd passions, which seemed to Angelus entirely arbitrary: one night unwilling to eat a child, another only too willing to have some sport with one before the feast. He didn’t understand the boy, and that annoyed Angelus… roused his ire—pissed him off, if he had to be entirely honest.

But William wasn’t really a boy. Standing in the shadows, Angelus saw this for the first time. It was all too easy for him to think everyone young—everyone was compared to him. But in biological, human terms, William was some years older than he. William had been a grown man when he’d been turned; Liam hadn’t even begun to shave with intent. He was older now though… considerably. He’d seen things and done things that William would be unable to comprehend—for all his fucking education and reading….

Ire suitably roused once more, pissed off with William as usual, Angelus emerged from the shadows.

William was chatting up some sailors—to cadge a berth on a ship. By dint of buying them drinks and telling a few crude jokes the minions had taught him, he had them in the palm of his hand. Until Angelus said softly, ‘Will.’

William actually paled, as stolen blood, consumed that night, drained from his face. He stood up and glanced toward the door. An uneasy silence descended upon the bar. Angelus wasn’t easy to ignore and the odd, soft way he’d called to the pale, blond man confused the other patrons. He was too young to be a father seeking a lost son, too different in appearance to be a brother, too rough to be a master. The sailors glanced between them with less curiosity. Perhaps, of all the onlookers, they were the least surprised by such a confrontation between two young, attractive men.

William made it to the door, but no further. Not under his own steam, anyway. The rest of the way—actually through the door and into the street—he was carried by the force of Angelus slamming into him. They collided with the side of a cart, and Angelus heard something crack, but was unsure whether it was wood or bone.

He grunted and straightened them both, combing his fingers through his long locks, of which he was inordinately proud. ‘Time to come home… ugh….’ He sank to his knees, speech entirely beyond him. Life as a eunuch flashed before his eyes—so did William, leaving the scene.

Angelus waited until the pain subsided enough for him to stand, then rose slowly from the straw and dung-splattered road. He knew he should feel nothing but righteous fury, but he didn’t: he almost admired his childe. William was fast and strong and bold. He didn’t surrender and go quietly. He reminded Angelus of himself, and this last thought made him frown. It would take William some time to be tamed, and time was the one thing, ironically, they didn’t have.

Almost regretfully, therefore, he lifted his face to the sky and scented the air. William knew so very little of being a vampire. Did he really think he could escape his sire?

* * * * * * * *

Angelus was waiting for him at the docks. Just standing there quietly in the shadows. William skidded to a halt, and a nervous, excited giggle escaped him. Angelus, one eye forever on the dictates of the rising sun, nodded toward a warehouse. This time, William’s attempt to flee bored and annoyed him. He grabbed the smaller vampire around the neck and hauled him into the gloom of the storage area. ‘Stop it.’

William only kicked out more viciously until Angelus was compelled to enforce his command. He broke William’s right arm at the elbow and twisted it for good measure. That stilled the struggling figure. That made him writhe for other reasons.

‘Ye’ll come home with me now, Will. We have a week to make you presentable, and then ye’ll be offered to the Grand Duke for his pleasure.’

‘Fuck you.’

‘Nooo…. I think fuck you.’ Once more, traitorous guilt stabbed at Angelus, robbing his wrath of some of its power. ‘Now, are you going to co-oper…? Jesus! Will you quit it?’ He rubbed his shin and bent to the mutinous figure on the floor. He hauled him up by the lapels of his jacket. ‘Enough! You’ll come back with me now, and you’ll do your duty to your sire!’

‘I won’t! You can make me come back, but you can’t make me do it! I’ll never submit! Never! He’ll regret the day he ever tried to lay a hand on me! I will never submit!’

Angelus hung his head and said sadly, ‘You will, Childe. Only… it will be some time from now, and the interval between this resistance and your compliance will not be pleasant for you.’

‘Fuck you, Angelus. I’m a demon as good as you—you made me. You wouldn’t submit, and I won’t either! Do your bloody worst!’

Angelus nodded then punched him unconscious. ‘Aye, little one, I will. Only we must find a special place of privacy and quiet for the journey that is ahead of you.’ He frowned, holding the lolling face between his hands and murmured, ‘This cannot be pity I feel. That was bled from me so many years ago.’ He let the unconscious body slip from his hands and stepped over it. It was not long until the dawn, and he needed to find the place where William was to suffer.

Chapter 2

He held out for three days.

In the hold of a rusting hulk, moored half a mile out and destined to be a prison ship, Angelus worked his fearful magic upon William’s helpless body.

Night passed into day and back into night without their notice, intent as they were upon the infliction of pain. Occasionally, they heard raised, human voices from passing boats, and Angelus would pause. Then the only sound was the plaintive mewing of seagulls until he began again, and William’s cries would rise, rivalling the screeching of the birds wheeling overhead. For the rest of his life, whenever he heard the cry of a seagull, Angelus would be taken back to this time and place and this intimacy with his childe.

For it was intimate—intensely so. They came with opposed, competing certainties: Angelus to win, William to not lose. Where these needs met became a place raw with emotion. Truths were squeezed out with the screams and the grunts of effort. They came to know each other more in those three days than they would have done in three years of easy, careless living in London.

By the time it was over, Angelus was exhausted, so when he heard a whispered, ‘Stop. I submit to your will, Sire,’ he fed upon the words as if blood. They poured into his parched throat and filled his belly. He released the barely recognisable form and laid it gently upon the tar-stained planks of wood.

‘You’ll go and prevail and bring this honour to your family?’

William couldn’t nod, but his eyes acquiesced.

Angelus knelt beside him. ‘You will feed and heal and go to him ready to accept his desires?’

This time, William only blinked in slow agreement.

* * * * * *

It promised to be a difficult journey back to London with one so terribly injured, so Angelus elected to remain in Dover until William was able to at least walk unaided. He selected a house near the turnpike and after eating the adult occupants, slowly fed an infant to his barely conscious childe. Horror seemed alive in William’s eyes, and at first he refused to eat, but only a look from his sire was needed to make him accept the tiny wrist into his mouth.

Satisfied that he would begin to heal, Angelus left to secure the house and find a safe mode of transport for them to return to the Capital in a few days.

When he returned, William was gone.

For the first time that he could remember, Angelus was dumbfounded. He blinked and stared at the spot on the bed where he had left the broken body. Had his childe been staked?

Only then did he notice the faint trail of blood that led into the adjacent room—William’s blood, with which he now had such an intimate acquaintance.

William was hunched on the floor, clutching something to his chest. At first, Angelus thought it was the body of the baby, then his eyes widened, and he took a step forward.

‘Don’t.’ William’s voice was pitifully quiet, but it held Angelus in place—or the large, jagged piece of wood pressed against his chest did.

Angelus’s voice caught in his throat, but he tore out, ‘What in the name of all that is unholy are you doing?’

William turned bloodshot eyes to him. Angelus could not tell what it was he saw in that steady gaze, but defeat it was not. ‘I win, Angelus.’ William pressed the wood home.

Angelus was quicker. Of course he was quicker and stronger and better—William could barely hold the stake, let alone plunge it home.

Angelus spread William’s helpless body on the floor and knelt over him, the stake discarded alongside them.

For the second time in his long life, Angelus was dumbfounded. He held William’s jaw and, almost gently, banged his skull in frustration against the floor. ‘You would stake yourself to escape me?’

William’s defiance only made his earlier, false submission the more outrageous.

For one brief moment, Angelus contemplated the fact that this slim, troublesome man had bettered him. Then he smiled, slowly revealing the core of the horror that he was able and willing to unleash upon those who crossed him. He adjusted his position on William’s hips and bent low to his ear.

He whispered, laughing, then licked William’s ear.

William’s eyes widened as he listened. He made a small sound—a grunt of air escaping, and it was more telling a capitulation than all of his fearful screaming.

Angelus straightened, still grinning, feral glints of malice in his eyes. ‘Maybe the pain would bring back her sanity. What do you think?’

William licked his lips. ‘Don’t hurt her, please, Angelus.’

‘You’ll be a good little boy for me?’

William nodded.

‘Say it.’

‘I promise.’

‘Promise what?’

A hint of defiance was quickly suppressed. William closed his eyes as if that was the only way he could keep it down. ‘I promise I’ll do as you wish—make you… proud.’

‘Aye. A little whore to be proud of. Get up. You are apparently well enough to travel. We will feed then leave.’

He left William on the floor contemplating the horror that would descend upon his dark princess if he defied his sire again.

* * * * * * *

The whole household was subjected to Angelus’s wrath when he returned to find that the proposed visit to London by the new Grand Duke was now to be a tour of the North Country. Not only did the change of plans mean a six night journey, if they were to travel in the style Angelus wished his family to become accustomed to, it would mean six days passed idly at inns at great cost to his increasingly diminishing finances. He was beginning to lose his desire for the advancement that had seemed so tantalisingly close.

Darla refreshed his enthusiasm.

Tingling from her particular charms, he began make the necessary arrangements, issuing orders to his minions and planning the journey. He summoned William and was pleased when he came punctually and submissively to the door.

Darla’s eyes widened at the sight of the battered figure, and she laughed. ‘What have you done to him?’

Something in this mocking tone rankled with Angelus. William had impressed him, withstanding tortures that he had found intolerable when practised upon him by the dark priests of another century. What he was asking his Childe to do was distasteful to him, and he did not think it Darla’s place, a woman’s place, to mock Will so. Not quite knowing what he did, therefore, he went to William and put a brotherly arm over his shoulder, drawing him to the desk. ‘Are you up to writing some letters for me, Will?’

He felt Darla’s gaze bore into his back, fancied he heard her grunt of annoyance, but then she was gone in a flurry of silk and organza, and he conceded that he may have imagined more notice of his actions than she had actually shown. Perhaps he was noticing his own actions more and projecting this upon Darla. He had no idea why he was standing behind William, watching him write in his elegant hand, nib scratching on vellum. Why did he put his hand to a wound on the pale neck? William’s hair was poorly arranged, tumbling out of its fastening. He released it completely and spread it over the bony shoulders. William’s hand stilled upon the paper. He did not look up, nor did he tense, and Angelus knew that he was not the only one affected by the strange sense of intimacy that had come upon them on the ship. It lingered still around them, its tendrils brushing and sensitising their skin.

‘Please. Don’t make me do this, Angelus.’ The plea was soft and heartfelt.

Angelus sighed and lifted the hair, running his hands over the almost warm neck beneath. ‘You think too much, Will. It will be nothing to the things you will do over the course of this new life I have given you. You are a demon. Nothing can… affect you now.’

‘Everything affects me. More than before.’

‘Aye, well, you are the strangest demon.’

William leant back fractionally. Angelus did not step back, and the dirty-blond hair hung like a silken curtain over the front of his britches. He pressed against it and lifted his face with unexpected pleasure.

‘If I am demeaned, are you not also?’

Angelus huffed. ‘You are the only one who sees disgrace.’

There was a pause, and then William said sadly, ‘No, Sire, you see it, too.’

Angelus cuffed him, but so affectionately that he surprised himself, so stepped away to regain some authority. ‘Finish the letters and pack. We leave for Cumbria tonight.’

William bowed his head to his task, but just before Angelus reached the door, he asked, ‘Can it be just us?’

Angelus paused, and William clarified, ‘Don’t bring the women, Angelus. Please.’

Was he being infected by the strange human-like passions of this new Childe? Perhaps he was. Angelus nodded. William’s humiliation would not be witnessed by their womenfolk.

Angelus went from the bedroom to the relative peace of the library, oddly disturbed by this encounter with William. He could assign no cause to his discomfort, and this puzzled him. What puzzled him even more was the amount he was now looking forward to six days on the road alone with his childe.

Chapter 3

The odd sense of anticipation that he’d felt for the trip evaporated within ten minutes of Angelus joining William in the carriage. It was not William at his sparkling best. However much the quirks of his childe’s personality annoyed him, Angelus missed them when they weren’t there.

He eyed William surreptitiously whilst ostensibly watching the passing nightlife of London, and the guilt stabbed at him again. What would it be like being so powerless? Sure, he had a sire, too—one to whom he owed his complete obedience. But he and Darla both knew that her hold over him was entirely sexual. She was due north, and his dick was a compass that would always point in her direction. If that force of nature was disturbed and he found another to desire, she would then be as powerless to command him emotionally as she now was physically.

As they rattled uncomfortably over the cobbles, he wondered idly what it would be like to be mastered. He tried to picture the dark force that would be able to do something so unthinkable. Although not consciously seeing a male figure, he conceded, given his phenomenal strength, that it probably would have to be male, and the form began to take shape in his mind. It towered over him, cowered him. It demanded of him and was given. It stripped him bare of all pretence and fear of failure, but in this complete surrender, gave him power of another kind altogether.

With a disturbing arousal, Angelus shifted in his seat. Surrender was dangerously seductive.

He glanced at William once more and found himself under particular scrutiny until the blue eyes were flicked elsewhere. The degree of accusation in the gaze hurt him more than it annoyed him. He sighed and stretched out his long legs (relieving other things as well as his feelings) and said softly, ‘Don’t take it so hard, Will. This time next month you’ll have some amusing stories to regale Dru.’

William brought his gaze back to rest on Angelus, and this time his look was almost incredulous—scornful. ‘I shall never speak of this to anyone! What do you think I am?’

Such direct confrontation demanded reprimand, but Angelus could think of nothing physical that he had not already done. More pain seemed pointless. William, however, had the sense to lower his gaze and mumble an apology, so Angelus let it go. Thoughts of William’s torture rumbled in his mind for another few miles, prompting him to ask eventually, ‘Have you fed well? Will you be healed when we arrive?’

William looked confused for a moment then nodded. Angelus had the sudden thought that his childe had not known the answer: he had been a vampire for only two months, and this was the first time he had been so badly injured. He berated himself for being so negligent with William’s education and slid from his seat to sit beside him. ‘Let me see.’

‘See what?’

Angelus almost smiled at the odd mixture of panic and defiance in the tone. ‘We’ll start with your arm.’

William stuck out the suggested limb then distanced himself from the proceedings by staring out of the window and showing no sign of pain or otherwise to anything Angelus did. ‘It is not the quantity of the blood that you need to concentrate on, it’s the quality.’ William continued to make no sign that he was listening. Angelus did let a small smile escape at that but continued, ‘If you ate the Queen of England, you’d be healed in a day! Some common mudlark and you’d be still be broken next year!’

William turned and regarded the lowered head. ‘That’s daft.’

Angelus, utterly unused to being contradicted (and particularly not about blood), looked up, confused. William added more politely, ‘Blood is blood, Angelus. Under a powerful optic there is no difference between the blood of kings and that of slaves.’

‘How can that be? What about noble blood? And you’ve looked through one of these… optics?’

‘Of course.’

‘At blood?’

‘Uh huh.’

Angelus leant back against the seat, trying to convey disinterest, but the eagerness of his tone betrayed him. ‘What does it look like?’

‘Blobs.’

‘Blobs?’

‘Hmm. Red and white. But it’s exactly the same wherever the sample comes from. Except from sick people. I never eat sick people.’ William shook his head sadly as if everyone would benefit from following this considered piece of wisdom.

There was silence for a while, sitting side-by-side, being jostled together by the rattling of the coach. Finally, Angelus said in a tone that brooked no dissent, ‘Royalty have blue blood.’

William gave him a look then folded his arms and stared out of the window once more.

Angelus began to study his nails with great concentration, wondering why he didn’t go back to his own side of the carriage. ‘We’ll eat a servant girl tonight.’

‘Whatever you wish, Angelus.’

‘You think I’m saying that to prove something.’

‘Why should you need to prove anything to me?’

‘I don’t! But I’m not anyway.’ He was getting confused now and pulled himself back on track with some effort. ‘Even though you’d heal faster, never eat from the better classes unless you have to—they are missed and reported.’

William turned back once more, and his look was decidedly frosty. ‘Unless you turn them then persuade them to kill the people who would miss them the most.’

Angelus laughed (without any humour) and, deliberately not rising to the accusation, challenged, ‘You think yourself of the better classes then, Englishman?’

Clearly angry that Angelus had not risen to the oblique reference to his mother, William replied, ‘I supposed that depends upon whom you choose for comparison.’

Angelus wasn’t sure whether it was William’s prissy use of the word whom or the implication behind his words that angered him the most. He elbowed him in the face for his impertinence and had the satisfaction of knowing that his childe had not become immune to pain.

Settling back to his side of the carriage, he put his feet up on William’s seat and began to hum tunelessly.

When William’s nose stopped bleeding, he pulled a book out of his pocket and pointedly read it intently for the rest of the night.

That it appeared to be in French worsened Angelus’s mood considerably.

* * * * * * *

Two respectable travellers, they booked into a respectable inn before dawn the next day. Angelus needed no other excuse for the odd choice of hours than to indicate William’s pallor and injuries and say that he needed rest before commencing their journey.

Angelus immediately left his room and joined William. As he shut and bolted the door, he said firmly, ‘Never sleep alone when you are away from home.’

‘Home?’

‘Aye. Darla and Dru. The family.’

‘Why?’

‘Isn’t it obvious, Childe? Even the death of a servant girl, such as the one we took tonight, might one day be our undoing. Our kind are sought and hunted and would be killed like dogs if they found us.’

‘Uh huh. Why take two rooms then? Isn’t that unnecessarily costly?’

Angelus gave him a look. ‘They’d have a right to kill us if they thought we shared a bed!’

William’s eyes flashed, and Angelus cursed inwardly as his careless reference to the whole reason for their trip. ‘That’s different.’ He was making it worse, and he knew it. ‘Go to bed.’

Angelus pulled off his shirt and undid his britches. Pulling off his boots, he lay back on one side the bed, his arms folded behind his head.

William paced looking tense.

* * * * * * *

Angelus woke with a start, unsure what had woken him, suffering the after-affects of a disturbing dream.

Suddenly, for the first time, it occurred to him that the one thing that would solve William’s dilemma would be his death. Arguably, therefore, he had fallen asleep on the one person he shouldn’t have. With a small smile of satisfaction, he stretched luxuriously, secure in the knowledge that it would never happen. Quite how he knew this, he couldn’t say; he just did.

What had woken him? He opened his eyes then cursed and rolled nimbly off the bed when a loud crack and subsequent shattering filled the room. Aghast, he cursed and looked toward William. His face was running in blood. The large dress mirror lay in wicked-looking shards, glittering on the floor. William, it appeared, had head-butted the mirror.

Angelus cursed and stepped toward him, taking him by his upper arms. Slivers of glass were embedded in his face, one large shard appeared to have pierced his eye, but when Angelus removed it, he saw it had only separated his left eyebrow. The blood, however, filled William’s eye socket and gave him a fearful aspect.

‘What the fuck are you doing?’

William tried to pull away and said dully, ‘He won’t want me now.’

Angelus shook him. ‘You little….’ Instead of continuing, he pushed William into a chair and poured some water from the pitcher onto the towel. Very carefully, he dabbed around the glass shards and removed them, one by one. William sat uncomplaining, a dead, uncharacteristic look on his face. The towel turned red, but Angelus continued. In his mind, he said the things he should say. In his mind, he pictured torturing or staking this disobedient childe. But he continued his slow, gentle ministrations. As he tipped William’s face from side to side, as he held and steadied his chin and patted around the finely delineated cheekbones, he almost laughed at the idea that someone wouldn’t want this face—bloodied and cut, or not.

William suddenly drew his gaze from the distant place it had been fixed and said woodenly, ‘You can do this—appear gentle and concerned and almost human—but you are soulless. You can feel nothing Angelus—nor ever will again.’

Angelus froze, his hand held halfway between William’s face and the pitcher of water. ‘Nothing?’ He lowered the towel and tipped William’s face toward his. Had he neglected his childe’s tutoring this badly? ‘Is that what you think my demon is? Feeling nothing? William, remember the coach last night? Remember how we came down that last gradient with the brakes howling and screeching against the wheels? Do you remember? That was as a soul holding a man in check: he howls to be free. I am without restraint, Will. I am the coach let loose to fly, unchecked. It is an exhilarating ride but a dangerous one: I’m as likely to crash and burn as to stay in furious flight. But, Will, don’t ever think I don’t feel the journey—in here, in my body: every jolt magnified from the speed I travel; every movement ecstasy, because it could be my last.’ He drew one finger down William’s cheek, following the line of one ridiculously sharp cheekbone. ‘But you, my moment of folly, what of you? Not human but not quite demon either. You can’t work up the courage to release the brakes, yet you crave the exhilaration of the plunge. You tease them over the wheels of your life, only half-willing to let go. You have a very bumpy ride ahead of, Will. You jolt and veer off on tangents, hurt and confuse people. Let go, William; ride the whirlwind with me. Travel at my pace.’

‘Why did you turn me?’

Angelus looked away, not expecting this. ‘It was a mistake. Male, female, male, female—one begets the other: sire and childe. I should never have turned a man—I can’t, won’t, give you what you need from a sire to be whole.’

‘What you have from yours?’

‘Yes. What I have from Darla.’

‘And what Dru has from you?’

‘Yes.’

On the finality of that word, William wrapped his arms around his body and stood, his face creased with misery as he blurted out, ‘I wish now that we were there.’ Seeing that his words had the desired effect, he added childishly, ‘He will give me what it appears I need.’

Angelus frowned. As much as he’d wanted capitulation from his childe, now that he had it, it did not sit well. ‘He is not your sire.’

William shrugged. ‘Semantics.’

Not knowing what that meant, Angelus opted for silence. He began to pace, wary of the strong shafts of light dissecting the room. He glanced down at the towel in his hand, studying the patterns of blood. Suddenly, with a proprietary growl, he said, ‘I’m hungry. Come here.’

He took William to the bed and bit hard without the finesse one would usually expect a sire to practise on a willing, obedient childe. William was tight and hard to push into, but eventually his flesh yielded to Angelus’s remorseless penetration. The evocative, metallic scent filled his nostrils just as pleasingly as the blood filled his mouth. He sucked wide-mouthed into the wound, pushing his tongue in to lick around the chords and tendons in William’s neck. ‘I am your sire.’ He allowed William’s head to drop to the bed and withdrew, a fine chain of fluid delicately swinging between them. ‘I should hurt you. Punish you.’

William nodded, resigned.

Angelus closed his eyes for a moment then opened them and said softly, ‘It will not be so bad, Will.’ William opened his mouth to reply, but words did not come. Angelus found himself staring, hypnotised, at the soft pink shapes. Quietly, he repeated, ‘Not so bad,’ then leant down and took William’s warm lips between his own.

There was no mistaking the kiss. It wasn’t part of the feeding ritual. It wasn’t a filial kiss or one from sire to childe, despite how close that relationship might be. It was a deeply sensual kiss of tongue and murmured sound and wide mouths that sought and took.

They broke apart, and Angelus continued to stare at William’s lips, now glistening with his saliva. Slowly, he lifted his gaze to William’s eyes. He smiled, amused but mystified at his own actions. ‘See? You might actually enjoy it. Now, we must sleep or the night will be upon us once more.’ With that, he removed William’s jacket, loosened his collar and then pulled him into a tight spoon. When he sensed that William was about to speak, he put his palm over the soft mouth. ‘No.’ He was pleased when William obeyed and pulled him in closer for reward. Once more, the thought crept into his mind that it was very dangerous to sleep with this snake at his bosom. Once more, however, he felt an odd surge of heat at the thought of how ridiculous that was and allowed himself a wry smile, which he took with him into the darkness and relative peace of his demonic dreams.

Chapter 4

William was sleeping deeply when Angelus awoke. He lay still, pondering damage limitation—for he knew he had to attempt some, and soon. He knew very well how William would react to the kiss. William was a would-be disciple seeking a God. Angelus had no intention of becoming William’s dark God, nor did he want worshipers. The kiss was unfortunate, because he could not pass it off as the casual affection of a sire for his childe. Nor could he pretend it hadn’t happened. Worse, he could not claim that it meant nothing to him. Although he had passed it off at the time with admirable composure, he knew that William knew that he knew they’d both been considerably aroused by it. That visible, physical reaction to a kiss in a partner was novel for Angelus, and it played on his mind. Cause and effect; lips and cock. Even remembering it caused his balls to twitch pleasantly. Thinking about that made them rise… and the chain reaction continued, until his plan to mitigate the damage of the kiss turned into a stealthy fondling of a very hard shaft.

And then the desperately disagreeable temptation to wake William hit him. His hand sped up just thinking about showing his erection to his childe. He wanted his balls caressed, his cock sucked. He wanted to be bitten and licked and to take—hard. He wanted to be ridden to exhaustion, matched pleasure for pleasure. What would it be like to have his lithe, powerful childe writhe upon him? Would their bodies clash and contrast,