wip:give up the ghost, btvs/alpha&omega
Title: Give up the Ghost
Chapter 3:Part B: they crave the same thing
Prompt: #447 rhetorical question @ tamingthemuse
Rating: FR13
Disclaimer: BtVS and all related characters are copyright of Joss Whedon and ME. The Alpha and Omega Series and all related characters are copyright of Patricia Briggs and Ace. No infringement intended.
Summary: Leah Cornick was a lot of things (most of them bad), but none would’ve guessed that she was a Slayer trapped within a wish.
An oak table, sanded to perfection and oiled to maintain its sheen, dominated the dining room. It had been a gift from a lesser wolf seeking to curry favor with Bran. His negotiation skills must’ve been lacking because Buffy had the sneaking suspicion Bran had declined the request. In the twenty odd years they’d owned the table Bran had dutifully oiled it each spring and that gave Buffy, or more precisely Leah, the supposition that he didn’t foresee another gift in the near or distant future. Which meant taking care of it-far better than he’d ever taken care of their marriage-was key to its prolonged survival.
She ran her fingers along the unblemished surface, remembering many a meal alone, and she pressed downward, the skin of around her nails paling. Buffy removed her hands from the table and the temptation to score that precious wood. Punishing an inanimate object, when it couldn’t possibly comprehend or deserve her ire, seemed a bit counterproductive and juvenile. Folding her hands in her lap she looked past the object currently in her crosshairs and to the wooden panels that lined the walls. The panels came to waist-level-on all but her- and were white, offset by the green covering the rest of the walls from panel to ceiling. She’d chosen the color because she liked it and not because Bran disliked it. Despite what he assumed.
The ceilings were coffered and the light fixture above the table had been Bran’s choice. It was made of metal and Edison bulbs, spherical shaped and it worked nicely with the rest of the room’s décor. She’d never told him that and Buffy felt the oddest urge to, but held her tongue and allowed the silence to continue to reign. Bran had taken his place at the head of the table and she’d claimed the seat to his right with Anna taking the spot on Buffy’s left. She was sandwiched neatly between the two people most capable of keeping her beast in check. It calmed as much as it rankled.
Dawn sat across from her and Tag had claimed the seat beside her sister after moving the centerpiece of yellow tiger lilies to the far end of the table. It left her with an unobstructed view of his downturned face and Dawn’s considering one. She remembered two hundred plus years of life without her sister. A life that had held its share of ups and downs, emphasis on the latter, but once she recalled life as a Slayer it was as if missing pieces of herself had slotted into place. She’d held an empty space in her heart for so long, Bran had been unwilling to fill it and children had never been possible, but Dawn fit so easily into it, the monks’ interference notwithstanding.
She gave into her next impulse and reached across the table, mindless of Bran’s growl, and Dawn leaned forward. Their fingers touched and then curled around one another until their nails caught on skin. It felt right and slightly painful, which was right in its own way, and the watery smile Dawn treated her to made her sister appear older. Buffy squeezed tighter before asking, “How long has it been for you?”
“Two hundred seventeen years, six months and twenty-three days.” Illyria supplied from her place along the far wall. She’d declined to take a seat, but had rather stationed herself at Dawn’s back, her hands resting casually on her thighs as she leaned against the wall.
The sentry position was not lost on Buffy, or the other wolves for that matter, but rather than concede to the dominating presence the Old One posed she questioned Dawn, “How?”
“I stopped aging around thirty.” A shoulder lifted and Dawn’s grip on her hand tightened. “No one was sure why.”
“I suppose the why is redundant.”
They shared a smile as Anna leaned forward, cautious in joining the conversation, but unwilling to remain quiet once the silence had been broken. “Is it?” Anna questioned, before clarifying, “Redundant I mean.” She made a vague gesture towards Dawn, “The last witch we met that didn’t age…”
Buffy swallowed the growl tickling the back of her throat, but the faint rumble that escaped stiffened Anna’s spine and Bran gave her a sharp look. Forcing her next breath out, silently between her teeth, Buffy closed her eyes and focused on the comforting warmth of Dawn’s hand in her own. Her sister’s skin was damp and she could feel Dawn’s heartbeat through the pulse in the tips of her fingers. The tempo increased, whether because of Anna’s implication or because of her adverse reaction to that implication, Buffy wasn’t sure. Her grip tightened, the sudden movement pulling a startled sound from Dawn and that opened her eyes.
She sought out Asil, the topic of implied conversation, and found him keeping up his section of the wall just fine. He’d remained standing with Illyria and was closer to the exit than any of them as if he’d leave when the moment suited him. Leah had feared Asil, which seemed the smart thing for a wolf to do, but Buffy couldn’t bring herself to care for him either way. Asil caught her gaze and her beast rose to meet that challenge, but Buffy directed her gaze elsewhere. The growl that echoed in her mind was reminded of the fact that she didn’t want to kill Asil and she did this as her best she could without reaching for her safety blankets, Bran and Anna.
“She’s not a dark witch,” Buffy assure them while taking her hand back from Dawn. She didn’t trust herself, the beast was too temperamental and her control shoddy at best. Buffy looked to Anna, met her gaze hesitantly before clarifying, “Dawn wouldn’t sacrifice others to gain power.”
“How would you know? It’s been two hundred years since you last met.” Bran’s question and statement turned her towards him and she opened her mouth to deliver an irritable retort when the truth of his words sank home.
Buffy exhaled instead and offered him a tired shrug. Bran’s brows drew inward and she knew she’d done the exact wrong thing. Leah would’ve snapped at him-perhaps more so because of how right he was-but that wouldn’t help matters, “Damned if I know how. But I do know,” was groused at the room.
The lines between his brows deepened with her casual use of a curse, mild or not, and she rolled her lips inward, biting down to suppress a smile. Some of the tension in Bran’s face faded as if she’d done something right. She couldn’t be certain as to what she’d done, because his side of their bond was shut down tight, but her fingers itched with the urge to reach out to Bran as she had with Dawn and her sister watched their interaction with the oddest expression.
“She stinks of blood and magic.”
Tag’s casual observation drew Dawn’s focus and she snapped, “Hey! I stink of no one’s blood, but my own.” Her mouth narrowed and her brows tugged downward in a familiar way before she muttered, “And that sounded less psychotic in my head.”
The utter truth in her words eased something in Tag and Anna, making them less hostile, but still watchful. Asil quirked a brow and ran his tongue along the edge of his teeth in an obvious threat. Buffy frowned at him before she noticed Bran watched her sister much the way he’d watch any insolent wolf. He had no claim on her and Buffy’s eyes narrowed, frown deepening, but the scent of meat, raw and annoyingly appetizing, distracted her from the urge to reprimand her mate. Buffy turned, looking behind her to the opening that led into the kitchen and watched Charles enter with a steaming mug and a plate of diced steak.
Her brows rose at the sight of the mug and she sniffed. The soothing scent of lemon balm tea reached her sharpest sense before Charles placed them in front of her. The meat was ignored as she focused on the tea and caught the sweet honey notes in the scent. Tears gathered in her lashes with the fact that Charles knew which tea she preferred and how she took it. It was also possible Bran had spoken with him mind to mind, but something told her Charles simply knew. That was his way and sometimes it was just as annoying as her preference for raw meat.
She ignored the echoes of Leah and offered him her gratitude, “Thank you.”
Tea and meat didn’t warrant the appreciation in her tone and Charles offered her a slight quirk of his mouth before he took a spot along the wall-just as Asil and Illyria had-behind Anna. Buffy could count the number of times Charles had shared with Leah his version of a smile and it tightened something in her chest. Bran nudged the plate closer to her and Buffy blinked away the tears, ignoring the one that slipped down her cheek, before submitting to the inevitable and retrieving a cube.
It was still cold, but she popped it into her mouth anyway. Dawn’s nose wrinkled in distaste while she chewed and her sister huffed, “Couldn’t you have at least seared that?”
Buffy ran a quick tongue across the front of her teeth before snapping, “You put anchovies on peanut butter sandwiches.”
“That sounds wholly unappetizing.” Anna’s quiet agreement earned her a smile and Buffy saluted her with the next bite.
“It’s not so bad,” Tag offered conversationally, “It’s a French recipe, right?”
Anna blinked at him and Buffy smiled, it always amused her when Tag surprised those around him. The Omega wasn’t being rude, unlike some members of their pack, but she, like so many others, underestimated him. They saw Colin Taggart’s large body in his ill-fitting cloths-one of these days she was going to burn those Birkenstocks-and didn’t realized his mind was sharper than most. It didn’t help that his hair, brilliant orange and utterly hopeless, was usually held at bay by oversized rubber bands. This did not instill a sense authority, or propriety.
Bran’s amusement made her smile widen, because she could feel it through their bond, and she glanced at him from beneath her lashes. Subtle, that move was not, but his quirked mouth made her stomach tighten. This, of course, only made his smile widen and he reached across the table to her. Buffy covered up her hesitation in taking his hand by eating another piece of meat and licking her fingers clean. His head inclined, pale eyes narrowing, and the challenge in his gaze prompted her to slide the hand closest to him into his waiting one.
“I did have it in France!” Dawn’s excited agreement brought Buffy’s focus back to her. “It had romaine lettuce, anchovies and croutons.”
Tag nodded and Anna shook her head before adding her two cents, “That explanation is not helping any.”
Buffy took another bite of meat as Charles spoke, voice calm and surprisingly soft, “How is it that Leah had no memory of you until your arrival this day?”
Dawn looked past Buffy to Charles and she watched her chin lift in answer to his challenge. “Her name is Buffy and she ran afoul a demon.”
Bran’s hand tightened around hers and Buffy winced before wading into dangerous conversational waters. “My name is Leah also.” She met Dawn’s startled gaze and clarified, “Regaining my memories of you doesn’t negate two hundred years of life. I’ve been Leah a long time.”
“You are Buffy.”
Dawn’s certainty made her smile even as Buffy countered with, “I can’t be both?”
Anna turned to gaze at her, watching her intently a moment before stating. “You’re different.”
“I am,” Buffy replied, suddenly exhausted. “But at least my beast is still a wolf.”
She’d meant that last bit, but her uncertainty flavored the words as half-truth and the wolves reacted to it. Anna’s eyes widen, making her freckles somehow more pronounced, and Charles pushed himself off the wall, making his way closer. There was a rumble, the sound of distant thunder, from deep within her psyche and Buffy knew that her beast did not like having Charles at their back. Tag sniffed at her from across the table, but remained seated.
Bran leaned forward and drew her closer with his grip on her hand. He met her gaze before he gaze her face an impartial study that did not help her nerves. His nostrils flared, scenting her before his face angled downward and he buried it against the curve of her neck. Warm breath tickled her skin and the shiver that chased its way down her spine had nothing to do with her beast. Buffy turned her face into his and rubbed her check against his temple. It marked him as hers and had the added benefit of hiding her face from Tag and Anna.
They, unlike Dawn, could smell her arousal with Bran’s close proximity-very similar to bells and Pavlov’s dog-but they didn’t need to see her blush as well. Bran’s scent, earthy, sweet and oh so powerful, was inhaled and it settled the beast sharing her skin. It was content, for the moment, with their choice in mate and Bran’s heartbeat responded to her attraction. The sudden increase in tempo told her, better than words, at least a part of him wanted her as much as she wanted him.
“You’re wolf,” his words were abrupt, carrying the faintest growl, and Bran pulled himself back.
“Why would you think yourself no longer a wolf?”
Buffy turned, chin catching on her shoulder as she strained to look back at Charles with her hand still safely tucked within Bran’s. “What I was before merged with my wolf.”
“How did you know…” Dawn trailed off, eyes widening, “You dreamed it.” Buffy nodded, but Dawn was already continuing, “The Slayer Line lost that ability when you disappeared. We thought you dead.”
“Dead?” Buffy couldn’t help, but scoff. “We both know how well that works where I’m concerned.”
“We should’ve realized sooner.”
“Two hundred years sooner?” Buffy snapped, so very Leah like, and sighed when Dawn’s flinch. “I’m sorry.” The apology turned Bran’s focus back to her and she ignored it to question, “How is the Slayer Line?”
“Gone.” Dawn smiled at her look of dismay and shook her head. “Maybe faded is a better word?” A shrug lifted her shoulder. “When the last girl Willow called with the awakening spell died there was no one else. Some believed the line had gone dormant because there wasn’t anything left to fight. You all put quite the dent in the demon population.”
“We,” Buffy corrected, “Put a dent in it.” Her sister smiled at the acknowledgment, but Buffy returned it with a frown. Realizing, belatedly, what Dawn had revealed. “Willow’s still alive?”
“She was when we left,” Dawn offered, “She and Angel remained behind-”
“I’m sorry,” Anna interrupted and Buffy glanced at her to see Charles watching Illyria, “Slayer line? Demons? What?”
“All good questions.” Dawn smiled and appeared to be trusting of at least some of Buffy’s pack as she explained, “Alternate realities.”
There was a moment of silence before Illyria spoke from her place behind Dawn, “There are an infinite number of alternate universes,” she scoffed, “Your quantum mechanics is not wholly inaccurate when it comes to their many-worlds interpretation.”
Buffy watched as Illyria received a reaction similar to Tag and smiled. “Careful,” she addressed the wolves’ urge to question her, “When she was human she had a doctorate in mathematics.”
“When she was human?” Bran enunciated each word and the slowed delivery meant he was trying to refrain from raising his voice.
“Alternate realities,” Anna spared a glance at Illyria before hastily correcting, “Universes?” She trailed off when Charles settled his hands on her shoulders. She smiled up at him before her eyes widened and she looked straight at Buffy. “Wait!” Buffy raised her brows in question. “Slayer Line and your name is Buffy? Buffy the Vampire Slayer? Like that movie from the 90s?”
Bran’s hand tightened around her own and Buffy closed her eyes in embarrassment as Dawn sputtered to life across from her. “What?! There’s a movie?”
She’d seen the movie, unfortunately, several times because Mercy enjoyed it and Bran had always indulged her. Dawn giggled hard enough to snort and Buffy opened her eyes so that she could glare at her sister. She caught sight of Bran’s confusion filled face and knowing he was at least familiar with the film had her muttering, “Dam,” she swallowed the rest of the curse and finished with, “Stupid D’Hoffryn.”
“D,” Anna cleared her throat, “Hoffryn?”
As casually as can be, Dawn answered, “Wish demon.”
Tag cleared his throat, drawing the room’s attention, “Wish demons?”
“Demons that grant wishes,” Dawn explained, the laughter sneaking back into her voice.
“Isn’t that a genie?”
Dawn shook her head at Anna’s question before clarifying, “They grant wishes, but they tend to twist the wish to make it less fortuitous or to punish someone.”
Anna turned to Buffy, lifting a hand to settle it over Charles’ as she questioned, “This life is your punishment?”
Her mouth opened, but snapped shut because she knew they could smell a lie and she didn’t have a counterargument that wasn’t at least somewhat dishonest. Buffy, studiously looking anywhere but Bran, caught Dawn’s gaze and her sister seemed to understand her predicament as the levity fled the room.
She might’ve managed a reply, eventually, but Illyria chose then to voice her opinion. “I find this world, like so many others, extraneous. This world, this life is retribution.” Her head inclined, mouth curving inward at the corners, “What did you do to merit such a fate?”
“Illyria,” Buffy warned, her anger bringing the wolf to the forefront.
A pointed chin dipped, smile slipping away as if it’d never been as Illyria pushed off from the wall with a roll of her shoulders. Brown eyes, paling around the edges, narrowed on the room before they settled on Buffy. “You look as her, but you are not her.”
“Familiar with that concept, are we?” Buffy snapped back, embracing the inner bitch known as Leah.
Her footfalls were silent, swallowed by the common noises of the room, as Illyria stalked forward. She bypassed Dawn to stand closer to Bran and her nostrils flared as she scented the air, much like a wolf, and scoffed, “That which you once were was a power to reckon. A ruler of warriors and feared by those that meant your kind harm. Now you stand beside that power,” her lips curled in distaste and she caught Buffy’s gaze and held it unafraid, “Now you are a kept woman. Weak and inconsequential.”
“Do not insult her,” and Bran said the exact wrong thing.
“Kept,” Illyria reiterated with such disgust that Buffy felt her lips peel back of their own accord, baring her teeth in challenge as Illyria continued, “You are his pet.”
“Illyria.” Dawn’s voice was soft, but still a command, “Enough.”
Illyria’s gaze dropped to the back of her sister’s head. There was a movement, some subtle shift of her being that had Buffy’s beast surging upward and driving Buffy to her feet. The chair clattered to the floor behind her drawing Illyria’s attention and the room brightened, colors intensifying as the edges blurred and she knew from Leah’s memories her eyes had gone to wolf.
“Do not threaten, Dawn,” her voice was pitched low enough to hurt, “Your oath to me still stands, Old One.”
“We shall see,” Illyria’s chin lifted in defiance as she finished with, “I do not revel in your defeat,” before she left the room.
Asil dipped his chin, body bowing to the room before following her at a much more sedated pace. Tag coughed and shook his head, dreadlocks catching on the orange and yellow tie-dyed shirt, before he stated, “That was bracing,” and offered Buffy the barest of smiles. He caught her gaze, eyes a clear and soft grey, before he directed them elsewhere.
“So,” Anna hazard to bring the derailed conversation back on track, “Alternate universes?”
Chapter 3:Part B: they crave the same thing
Prompt: #447 rhetorical question @ tamingthemuse
Rating: FR13
Disclaimer: BtVS and all related characters are copyright of Joss Whedon and ME. The Alpha and Omega Series and all related characters are copyright of Patricia Briggs and Ace. No infringement intended.
Summary: Leah Cornick was a lot of things (most of them bad), but none would’ve guessed that she was a Slayer trapped within a wish.
An oak table, sanded to perfection and oiled to maintain its sheen, dominated the dining room. It had been a gift from a lesser wolf seeking to curry favor with Bran. His negotiation skills must’ve been lacking because Buffy had the sneaking suspicion Bran had declined the request. In the twenty odd years they’d owned the table Bran had dutifully oiled it each spring and that gave Buffy, or more precisely Leah, the supposition that he didn’t foresee another gift in the near or distant future. Which meant taking care of it-far better than he’d ever taken care of their marriage-was key to its prolonged survival.
She ran her fingers along the unblemished surface, remembering many a meal alone, and she pressed downward, the skin of around her nails paling. Buffy removed her hands from the table and the temptation to score that precious wood. Punishing an inanimate object, when it couldn’t possibly comprehend or deserve her ire, seemed a bit counterproductive and juvenile. Folding her hands in her lap she looked past the object currently in her crosshairs and to the wooden panels that lined the walls. The panels came to waist-level-on all but her- and were white, offset by the green covering the rest of the walls from panel to ceiling. She’d chosen the color because she liked it and not because Bran disliked it. Despite what he assumed.
The ceilings were coffered and the light fixture above the table had been Bran’s choice. It was made of metal and Edison bulbs, spherical shaped and it worked nicely with the rest of the room’s décor. She’d never told him that and Buffy felt the oddest urge to, but held her tongue and allowed the silence to continue to reign. Bran had taken his place at the head of the table and she’d claimed the seat to his right with Anna taking the spot on Buffy’s left. She was sandwiched neatly between the two people most capable of keeping her beast in check. It calmed as much as it rankled.
Dawn sat across from her and Tag had claimed the seat beside her sister after moving the centerpiece of yellow tiger lilies to the far end of the table. It left her with an unobstructed view of his downturned face and Dawn’s considering one. She remembered two hundred plus years of life without her sister. A life that had held its share of ups and downs, emphasis on the latter, but once she recalled life as a Slayer it was as if missing pieces of herself had slotted into place. She’d held an empty space in her heart for so long, Bran had been unwilling to fill it and children had never been possible, but Dawn fit so easily into it, the monks’ interference notwithstanding.
She gave into her next impulse and reached across the table, mindless of Bran’s growl, and Dawn leaned forward. Their fingers touched and then curled around one another until their nails caught on skin. It felt right and slightly painful, which was right in its own way, and the watery smile Dawn treated her to made her sister appear older. Buffy squeezed tighter before asking, “How long has it been for you?”
“Two hundred seventeen years, six months and twenty-three days.” Illyria supplied from her place along the far wall. She’d declined to take a seat, but had rather stationed herself at Dawn’s back, her hands resting casually on her thighs as she leaned against the wall.
The sentry position was not lost on Buffy, or the other wolves for that matter, but rather than concede to the dominating presence the Old One posed she questioned Dawn, “How?”
“I stopped aging around thirty.” A shoulder lifted and Dawn’s grip on her hand tightened. “No one was sure why.”
“I suppose the why is redundant.”
They shared a smile as Anna leaned forward, cautious in joining the conversation, but unwilling to remain quiet once the silence had been broken. “Is it?” Anna questioned, before clarifying, “Redundant I mean.” She made a vague gesture towards Dawn, “The last witch we met that didn’t age…”
Buffy swallowed the growl tickling the back of her throat, but the faint rumble that escaped stiffened Anna’s spine and Bran gave her a sharp look. Forcing her next breath out, silently between her teeth, Buffy closed her eyes and focused on the comforting warmth of Dawn’s hand in her own. Her sister’s skin was damp and she could feel Dawn’s heartbeat through the pulse in the tips of her fingers. The tempo increased, whether because of Anna’s implication or because of her adverse reaction to that implication, Buffy wasn’t sure. Her grip tightened, the sudden movement pulling a startled sound from Dawn and that opened her eyes.
She sought out Asil, the topic of implied conversation, and found him keeping up his section of the wall just fine. He’d remained standing with Illyria and was closer to the exit than any of them as if he’d leave when the moment suited him. Leah had feared Asil, which seemed the smart thing for a wolf to do, but Buffy couldn’t bring herself to care for him either way. Asil caught her gaze and her beast rose to meet that challenge, but Buffy directed her gaze elsewhere. The growl that echoed in her mind was reminded of the fact that she didn’t want to kill Asil and she did this as her best she could without reaching for her safety blankets, Bran and Anna.
“She’s not a dark witch,” Buffy assure them while taking her hand back from Dawn. She didn’t trust herself, the beast was too temperamental and her control shoddy at best. Buffy looked to Anna, met her gaze hesitantly before clarifying, “Dawn wouldn’t sacrifice others to gain power.”
“How would you know? It’s been two hundred years since you last met.” Bran’s question and statement turned her towards him and she opened her mouth to deliver an irritable retort when the truth of his words sank home.
Buffy exhaled instead and offered him a tired shrug. Bran’s brows drew inward and she knew she’d done the exact wrong thing. Leah would’ve snapped at him-perhaps more so because of how right he was-but that wouldn’t help matters, “Damned if I know how. But I do know,” was groused at the room.
The lines between his brows deepened with her casual use of a curse, mild or not, and she rolled her lips inward, biting down to suppress a smile. Some of the tension in Bran’s face faded as if she’d done something right. She couldn’t be certain as to what she’d done, because his side of their bond was shut down tight, but her fingers itched with the urge to reach out to Bran as she had with Dawn and her sister watched their interaction with the oddest expression.
“She stinks of blood and magic.”
Tag’s casual observation drew Dawn’s focus and she snapped, “Hey! I stink of no one’s blood, but my own.” Her mouth narrowed and her brows tugged downward in a familiar way before she muttered, “And that sounded less psychotic in my head.”
The utter truth in her words eased something in Tag and Anna, making them less hostile, but still watchful. Asil quirked a brow and ran his tongue along the edge of his teeth in an obvious threat. Buffy frowned at him before she noticed Bran watched her sister much the way he’d watch any insolent wolf. He had no claim on her and Buffy’s eyes narrowed, frown deepening, but the scent of meat, raw and annoyingly appetizing, distracted her from the urge to reprimand her mate. Buffy turned, looking behind her to the opening that led into the kitchen and watched Charles enter with a steaming mug and a plate of diced steak.
Her brows rose at the sight of the mug and she sniffed. The soothing scent of lemon balm tea reached her sharpest sense before Charles placed them in front of her. The meat was ignored as she focused on the tea and caught the sweet honey notes in the scent. Tears gathered in her lashes with the fact that Charles knew which tea she preferred and how she took it. It was also possible Bran had spoken with him mind to mind, but something told her Charles simply knew. That was his way and sometimes it was just as annoying as her preference for raw meat.
She ignored the echoes of Leah and offered him her gratitude, “Thank you.”
Tea and meat didn’t warrant the appreciation in her tone and Charles offered her a slight quirk of his mouth before he took a spot along the wall-just as Asil and Illyria had-behind Anna. Buffy could count the number of times Charles had shared with Leah his version of a smile and it tightened something in her chest. Bran nudged the plate closer to her and Buffy blinked away the tears, ignoring the one that slipped down her cheek, before submitting to the inevitable and retrieving a cube.
It was still cold, but she popped it into her mouth anyway. Dawn’s nose wrinkled in distaste while she chewed and her sister huffed, “Couldn’t you have at least seared that?”
Buffy ran a quick tongue across the front of her teeth before snapping, “You put anchovies on peanut butter sandwiches.”
“That sounds wholly unappetizing.” Anna’s quiet agreement earned her a smile and Buffy saluted her with the next bite.
“It’s not so bad,” Tag offered conversationally, “It’s a French recipe, right?”
Anna blinked at him and Buffy smiled, it always amused her when Tag surprised those around him. The Omega wasn’t being rude, unlike some members of their pack, but she, like so many others, underestimated him. They saw Colin Taggart’s large body in his ill-fitting cloths-one of these days she was going to burn those Birkenstocks-and didn’t realized his mind was sharper than most. It didn’t help that his hair, brilliant orange and utterly hopeless, was usually held at bay by oversized rubber bands. This did not instill a sense authority, or propriety.
Bran’s amusement made her smile widen, because she could feel it through their bond, and she glanced at him from beneath her lashes. Subtle, that move was not, but his quirked mouth made her stomach tighten. This, of course, only made his smile widen and he reached across the table to her. Buffy covered up her hesitation in taking his hand by eating another piece of meat and licking her fingers clean. His head inclined, pale eyes narrowing, and the challenge in his gaze prompted her to slide the hand closest to him into his waiting one.
“I did have it in France!” Dawn’s excited agreement brought Buffy’s focus back to her. “It had romaine lettuce, anchovies and croutons.”
Tag nodded and Anna shook her head before adding her two cents, “That explanation is not helping any.”
Buffy took another bite of meat as Charles spoke, voice calm and surprisingly soft, “How is it that Leah had no memory of you until your arrival this day?”
Dawn looked past Buffy to Charles and she watched her chin lift in answer to his challenge. “Her name is Buffy and she ran afoul a demon.”
Bran’s hand tightened around hers and Buffy winced before wading into dangerous conversational waters. “My name is Leah also.” She met Dawn’s startled gaze and clarified, “Regaining my memories of you doesn’t negate two hundred years of life. I’ve been Leah a long time.”
“You are Buffy.”
Dawn’s certainty made her smile even as Buffy countered with, “I can’t be both?”
Anna turned to gaze at her, watching her intently a moment before stating. “You’re different.”
“I am,” Buffy replied, suddenly exhausted. “But at least my beast is still a wolf.”
She’d meant that last bit, but her uncertainty flavored the words as half-truth and the wolves reacted to it. Anna’s eyes widen, making her freckles somehow more pronounced, and Charles pushed himself off the wall, making his way closer. There was a rumble, the sound of distant thunder, from deep within her psyche and Buffy knew that her beast did not like having Charles at their back. Tag sniffed at her from across the table, but remained seated.
Bran leaned forward and drew her closer with his grip on her hand. He met her gaze before he gaze her face an impartial study that did not help her nerves. His nostrils flared, scenting her before his face angled downward and he buried it against the curve of her neck. Warm breath tickled her skin and the shiver that chased its way down her spine had nothing to do with her beast. Buffy turned her face into his and rubbed her check against his temple. It marked him as hers and had the added benefit of hiding her face from Tag and Anna.
They, unlike Dawn, could smell her arousal with Bran’s close proximity-very similar to bells and Pavlov’s dog-but they didn’t need to see her blush as well. Bran’s scent, earthy, sweet and oh so powerful, was inhaled and it settled the beast sharing her skin. It was content, for the moment, with their choice in mate and Bran’s heartbeat responded to her attraction. The sudden increase in tempo told her, better than words, at least a part of him wanted her as much as she wanted him.
“You’re wolf,” his words were abrupt, carrying the faintest growl, and Bran pulled himself back.
“Why would you think yourself no longer a wolf?”
Buffy turned, chin catching on her shoulder as she strained to look back at Charles with her hand still safely tucked within Bran’s. “What I was before merged with my wolf.”
“How did you know…” Dawn trailed off, eyes widening, “You dreamed it.” Buffy nodded, but Dawn was already continuing, “The Slayer Line lost that ability when you disappeared. We thought you dead.”
“Dead?” Buffy couldn’t help, but scoff. “We both know how well that works where I’m concerned.”
“We should’ve realized sooner.”
“Two hundred years sooner?” Buffy snapped, so very Leah like, and sighed when Dawn’s flinch. “I’m sorry.” The apology turned Bran’s focus back to her and she ignored it to question, “How is the Slayer Line?”
“Gone.” Dawn smiled at her look of dismay and shook her head. “Maybe faded is a better word?” A shrug lifted her shoulder. “When the last girl Willow called with the awakening spell died there was no one else. Some believed the line had gone dormant because there wasn’t anything left to fight. You all put quite the dent in the demon population.”
“We,” Buffy corrected, “Put a dent in it.” Her sister smiled at the acknowledgment, but Buffy returned it with a frown. Realizing, belatedly, what Dawn had revealed. “Willow’s still alive?”
“She was when we left,” Dawn offered, “She and Angel remained behind-”
“I’m sorry,” Anna interrupted and Buffy glanced at her to see Charles watching Illyria, “Slayer line? Demons? What?”
“All good questions.” Dawn smiled and appeared to be trusting of at least some of Buffy’s pack as she explained, “Alternate realities.”
There was a moment of silence before Illyria spoke from her place behind Dawn, “There are an infinite number of alternate universes,” she scoffed, “Your quantum mechanics is not wholly inaccurate when it comes to their many-worlds interpretation.”
Buffy watched as Illyria received a reaction similar to Tag and smiled. “Careful,” she addressed the wolves’ urge to question her, “When she was human she had a doctorate in mathematics.”
“When she was human?” Bran enunciated each word and the slowed delivery meant he was trying to refrain from raising his voice.
“Alternate realities,” Anna spared a glance at Illyria before hastily correcting, “Universes?” She trailed off when Charles settled his hands on her shoulders. She smiled up at him before her eyes widened and she looked straight at Buffy. “Wait!” Buffy raised her brows in question. “Slayer Line and your name is Buffy? Buffy the Vampire Slayer? Like that movie from the 90s?”
Bran’s hand tightened around her own and Buffy closed her eyes in embarrassment as Dawn sputtered to life across from her. “What?! There’s a movie?”
She’d seen the movie, unfortunately, several times because Mercy enjoyed it and Bran had always indulged her. Dawn giggled hard enough to snort and Buffy opened her eyes so that she could glare at her sister. She caught sight of Bran’s confusion filled face and knowing he was at least familiar with the film had her muttering, “Dam,” she swallowed the rest of the curse and finished with, “Stupid D’Hoffryn.”
“D,” Anna cleared her throat, “Hoffryn?”
As casually as can be, Dawn answered, “Wish demon.”
Tag cleared his throat, drawing the room’s attention, “Wish demons?”
“Demons that grant wishes,” Dawn explained, the laughter sneaking back into her voice.
“Isn’t that a genie?”
Dawn shook her head at Anna’s question before clarifying, “They grant wishes, but they tend to twist the wish to make it less fortuitous or to punish someone.”
Anna turned to Buffy, lifting a hand to settle it over Charles’ as she questioned, “This life is your punishment?”
Her mouth opened, but snapped shut because she knew they could smell a lie and she didn’t have a counterargument that wasn’t at least somewhat dishonest. Buffy, studiously looking anywhere but Bran, caught Dawn’s gaze and her sister seemed to understand her predicament as the levity fled the room.
She might’ve managed a reply, eventually, but Illyria chose then to voice her opinion. “I find this world, like so many others, extraneous. This world, this life is retribution.” Her head inclined, mouth curving inward at the corners, “What did you do to merit such a fate?”
“Illyria,” Buffy warned, her anger bringing the wolf to the forefront.
A pointed chin dipped, smile slipping away as if it’d never been as Illyria pushed off from the wall with a roll of her shoulders. Brown eyes, paling around the edges, narrowed on the room before they settled on Buffy. “You look as her, but you are not her.”
“Familiar with that concept, are we?” Buffy snapped back, embracing the inner bitch known as Leah.
Her footfalls were silent, swallowed by the common noises of the room, as Illyria stalked forward. She bypassed Dawn to stand closer to Bran and her nostrils flared as she scented the air, much like a wolf, and scoffed, “That which you once were was a power to reckon. A ruler of warriors and feared by those that meant your kind harm. Now you stand beside that power,” her lips curled in distaste and she caught Buffy’s gaze and held it unafraid, “Now you are a kept woman. Weak and inconsequential.”
“Do not insult her,” and Bran said the exact wrong thing.
“Kept,” Illyria reiterated with such disgust that Buffy felt her lips peel back of their own accord, baring her teeth in challenge as Illyria continued, “You are his pet.”
“Illyria.” Dawn’s voice was soft, but still a command, “Enough.”
Illyria’s gaze dropped to the back of her sister’s head. There was a movement, some subtle shift of her being that had Buffy’s beast surging upward and driving Buffy to her feet. The chair clattered to the floor behind her drawing Illyria’s attention and the room brightened, colors intensifying as the edges blurred and she knew from Leah’s memories her eyes had gone to wolf.
“Do not threaten, Dawn,” her voice was pitched low enough to hurt, “Your oath to me still stands, Old One.”
“We shall see,” Illyria’s chin lifted in defiance as she finished with, “I do not revel in your defeat,” before she left the room.
Asil dipped his chin, body bowing to the room before following her at a much more sedated pace. Tag coughed and shook his head, dreadlocks catching on the orange and yellow tie-dyed shirt, before he stated, “That was bracing,” and offered Buffy the barest of smiles. He caught her gaze, eyes a clear and soft grey, before he directed them elsewhere.
“So,” Anna hazard to bring the derailed conversation back on track, “Alternate universes?”