Best Souvenir, chapter 13
Chapter thirteen of Best Souvernir. (Whistler never existed. Buffy and Angel meet after the End of Days is over. Future fic, alternate reality.)
A/N: Big thanks to a2zmom who has picked up on my fault of over-explaining characters until they're no longer interesting.
from 12:
Angel, looking vexed, a little bored, said, “What are you talking abou-”
“Gypsies.”
Chapter 13
Silence.
“Surely you remember the Romany, brother? That was you, wasn’t it? Our records are generally so very . . . accurate.”
“What was me?”
Buffy couldn’t read anything from the flat tone of his voice, and had to resist the urge to turn and see his face. Of course, she knew there were things, big things, he hadn’t told her. She had even known they might get her into trouble. Still, hearing this man reference some mystery that might endanger her for being there, a mystery he might have revealed himself, was not pleasant. Of course, it was very possible that Angel’s whole lost, tortured attitude had just been a ploy to draw her into a trap of some kind. Even if he had a chip, his behavior now made a lot more sense than his behavior before this-his gentleness, his uncertainty, his attempts to be more human.
“The favorite daughter of the Kalderash tribe,” Ubel was answering, surprised. “Don’t you remember, mein liebling? Perhaps it wasn’t you. I was so certain . . . . Forgive me. But you don’t remember, do you? She wore flowers in her hair . . .”
Stupid Herbal Essence.
Angel visibly relaxed. She couldn’t tell whether the action was natural or a studied attempt to remain calm. “Yeah, I remember her. Beautiful. Dumb as a post. Tasted good, though.”
Buffy stiffened. He was a vampire. It should come as no surprise-and yet, he had never mentioned feeding off of anyone before now, never even mentioned killing anyone. Vampires usually couldn’t wait to brag-especially to a Slayer-about all the people they’d killed. Of course, he probably should mention it now, so that EEK didn’t suspect anything about the chip, but hearing about murder from someone firmly in her “can’t bite me” column still sent her shivering. And then Angel’s hand was on Buffy’s neck, idle, sensuous, trailing down over her breasts and gripping one of her thighs again. It was all she could do not to break each of his fingers, and almost as much as she could do not to feel aroused by his touch.
“Oh, yes, tee-hee,” Ubel giggled, eyes practically dancing as he watched the languorous movement of Angel’s hand. “‘Dumb as a post,’ yes, that’s very funny. How very amusing.” He dabbed at his face, as if wiping away tears of laughter, but his eyes seemed impervious to the soft, manic workings of his face. For a split-second, his gaze darted to Buffy. She tried not to gulp, or do anything, really. And then, so quickly she must have dreamed it, she thought she saw him . . . wink.
Just as quickly, the gaze sidled away. Buffy swallowed hard, doing everything she could to pretend it hadn’t happened.
“Naturally she was tasty,” Ubel was rambling on, “considering how well-loved she was, well-loved enough to . . . cause resentment. But you wouldn’t . . . . Pardon me, but would you know anything about that? I was under the impression . . . I could be mistaken, of course . . . . But I heard that the gypsies took revenge on the vampire who killed that daughter. Oh! Forgive my prying question-I really hate to be bothering you this way; I am sure you know nothing about it!-but . . . What do you know about it?”
Angel rolled his eyes, acting as though he was more interested in his fingers tracing little circles on Buffy’s thigh. She realized that she should probably be reacting, acting pleased, touching him in return, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Not when she was thinking about Angel drinking the blood of a gypsy girl who had worn flowers in her hair. Not under these circumstances and not under that man’s eyes. He was still riveted by Angel touching her; a faint blush had risen in his flabby cheeks, and he was practically panting. How far should she let this go before she decided to stop trusting Angel? Had Ubel really winked at her?
“I had a fang-ache a couple weeks ago,” Angel said lazily. “Think that was their revenge?”
“Oh-ho-ho,” Ubel chuckled breathlessly, face growing redder still. “Splendid. A tooth-ache, you say? How intriguing. So much for the legendary power of the Romany. A splendid answer to my question. Excuse me. Everything appears to be in perfect order. Yes, perfect. Are you perfectly sure there wasn’t . . . ?”
“There wasn’t anything left of the Kalderash tribe by the time we were through with them. Now are we going to do business or am I going to do dinner?”
“Dinner! Oh, now mein Lieber . . . Let’s not get feisty. I’m more of a dessert, really . . . quite sweet, you know, so very . . .” He trailed off, eyes drifting toward Buffy, and whispered in a wet voice, “Sweet.”
There. He definitely did it that time. He winked.
Buffy had to repress the urge to vomit.
Then suddenly his attention snapped back to Angel and his voice was firm and business-like. “Now, Angelus, there are only these few forms to fill out, just a few; let me find them . . . .”
Ubel opened the satchel on the desk and withdrew a sheath of papers, a plastic triangle on the left-hand corners holding them together. Angel reached out for them, and Ubel, smiling, held them away. “We simply need your signature, and this information, of course, and then we can reopen your account . . . and transfer the money, of course . . . . Oh, I suppose you want these,” Ubel said, finally handing the papers to Angel.
Scowling, Angel grabbed them, examining the first page and then rifling through the others. Then he stood and took one of the pens from the stand on the desk, and scribbled something on one of the pages, using the desk to write on. Ubel adjusted the desk lamp, turning the metal shade so that the light shone on the pages. Angel looked at him in annoyance. “Want to get that thing out of my way?” he said.
“What? Oh yes, how silly of me, how terribly silly! I forgot about your vision,” Ubel exclaimed, moving the lamp back. He smiled apologetically and turned the shade until the light shone full on Buffy. It cast Ubel in a eerie contrast, his undefined features creating jumpy shadows in his face. As Angel stood over the desk, turning the pages and reading the papers, Ubel’s eyes slowly drifted to Buffy, a benign smile on his lips.
He had been smirking at her a long time when he finally said, “I like your scarf.” His smile widened.
Buffy’s eyes flicked to Angel, who seemed lost in concentration on the papers. His skin was ghostly in the half-light, his eyes too dark to see. She couldn’t decide whether it was more creepy to sit there and let Angel touch her-when it wasn’t Angel at all, when it was a vampire who drank gypsies and kept secrets from her and was full of toothy grins for charming Ubel here-or whether it was more creepy to have to deal with the EEK representative by herself, one on one, without Angel beside her. Neither option was actually very appealing.
By letting Ubel Knopf see them, and by letting him get away to spread the word among his cronies, she had already done what she’d come for. The Immortal’s henchmen would use EEK to find them, and she would find out what was going on with Acathla. At this point, she continued the charade only to keep EEK from suspecting them of foul play, so that they didn’t bring an evil bank down on their heads along with all of the Immortal’s cronies. The money didn’t matter.
She wanted to stand up and tell Ubel Knopf to go to hell. She wanted to get Angel out of there. She wanted him to act the way he had acted before. Then she wanted to go home, take this disgusting dress off, and scrub herself until she forgot she’d ever met him.
But it was too soon to give up, Buffy told herself, gritting her teeth. She’d come up with this plan, even though it was risky-in fact, she’d done it because it was risky-and now she needed to stick to it as long as she could. She couldn’t compromise them both because she had a bad feeling.
Her. She couldn’t compromise her. Angel didn’t matter. He was a vampire.
“Thanks,” was all Buffy said.
Except for the weird winking thing, Buffy hadn’t even been sure Ubel noticed her. Now, it seemed, he was all friendly interest. Intense friendly interest. “What’s your name?” he asked politely.
“You don’t need to-”
“Anne.”
“-know,” Angel finished, looking swiftly at Buffy and then back down at the papers.
“Oh,” Ubel tittered, looking from Angel to Buffy. “Ah. A little confusion there. Didn’t know which of you was going to answer, did I? Hee hee . . .” Ubel’s eyes settled on Buffy, and he wasn’t laughing any more. “What’s it like knowing you’re going to die soon?” he asked.
Angel didn’t turn to look at her, perhaps fearing that their answers would cross again. He remained silent. Buffy’s eyes shifted back to Ubel. “Mmf?” she suggested.
“You can’t be a donor forever. Soon enough, you’re just going to . . . run out.” He tittered. “But it’s good for now, isn’t it? And for him, too. Left-overs every night . . . you’re making him lazy.” Then once again, Ubel abruptly stopped laughing, and cocked his head. “Aren’t you, Annie?”
Normally, Buffy would’ve spoken. She even had a response lined up. Her tongue was itching to say it; she thought it was a rather good one. All witty and insulting and everything. Instead, she said “um.” Um and then: “What?”
Ubel chuckled. “My my . . . . Are you really the reason our dear, darling Angelus is so . . . . sedate these days? You don’t look left-over. You’re not very pale for a . . .” His hand was coming for her, coming to touch the end of her trailing scarf.
If this man touched her, he was going to die.
“She’s tasty, but I wouldn’t try her if I were you,” Angel suddenly said. He didn’t even look up from the papers.
Ubel dropped his hand. “Oh, no,” he whispered. His voice was eerily low, and Buffy wondered how she heard it. “I’m not a vampire.” Then he began to grin, and this grin was different than his other fleshy smiles. There was something dangerous in this grin-something deadly. His eyes never moved from Buffy’s.
“That’s everything,” Angel said, throwing down the pen. He walked around the desk and put a hand on Buffy’s shoulder, propelling her up to standing. He didn’t bother looking at her. “I’ve got to be going. There’s this delicious little virgin I’ve been stalking,” he explained to Ubel. “Wouldn’t want her to get ripe without me there to pluck her.”
“Ah, such a metaphor,” Ubel acknowledged, turning to Angel, his tone a little louder. “You really are very witty.” He didn’t sound amused at all any more. His eyes had narrowed, focused on where Angel’s hand still gripped Buffy’s shoulder. “And her?” he asked. “What does she do while you . . . stalk?”
“She watches,” Angel murmured, looking down at Buffy, his hand beginning to stroke her skin. His eyes were cold, hard, eyes of a creature she didn’t know and didn’t want to know.
Something was wrong. Something was going terribly wrong and she didn’t know what-
“And she likes it?” Ubel asked softly.
“Oh, she likes it,” Angel purred. His hand skimmed across her shoulders, and then he added his other hand to her other shoulder. Ubel shifted again where he sat, watching as if impatient. Angel changed his stance a little so that he was standing behind her, movements slow and languid. “She likes it when I take them, when they’re still alive . . . When I take them and they’re bleeding to death.”
In the split instant before she jerked away, Angel was suddenly on her, wrapping himself around her, much more intimately than earlier when he had adjusted himself to their cover story outside. She could feel his knee pressing between her thighs, his hand resting on her breast.
Now that was too far.
And then Buffy felt Angel’s hand at the small of her back, and she immediately went limp. The hand by her chest, the hand Ubel could see, was languid, possessive. The other, hidden hand was urgent, petting small, frantic circles against her back-as if soothing a wild animal. Begging her not to react.
She could read his body language as if that body was made for her.
Buffy stiffened-closed her eyes-and gave in. She wasn’t sure where it came from, this trust, perhaps from the way his body so easily fit hers, the way she instinctively knew what he wanted. Whatever it was, she trusted him. She knew with sudden certainty that he was not going to hurt her. Desperately, she tried to relax.
“Does she?” Ubel was musing, stroking his lips with a drooping hand. “I wonder.” He looked away, as if contemplating something. After several long moments, he asked suddenly, “Did you know there is more than one Vampire Slayer these days?” His eyes fixed on Angel’s hands moving over Buffy, his mouth sagging open, his hand dropping down to his thigh. “Maybe you should be careful stalking-and plucking-little ladies on the streets, mein Lieber.”
“I don’t have to worry about that,” Angel said, unconcerned. “There isn’t a Slayer in Manhattan. I wouldn’t be having so much fun, otherwise. Look at that!” he marveled, turning Buffy’s head with a broad palm. “She gets wet when anyone mentions me with little girls.” Suddenly, he lipped a kiss on Buffy’s neck.
She writhed, pushing him away. Before she was in a position to land a punch, however, she heard Ubel’s swift gasp and the patter of his clapping, sweaty hands. “Oh!” Ubel chanted in excitement, heat flaring in his tone and eyes. “But she doesn’t like that!”
She paused. In the moment of that pause, Angel pulled her back into his arms, the hand again frantic at the small of her back. “Of course she doesn’t like that,” Angel growled, male satisfaction evident in his tone, belying everything that that hidden hand was saying. “I like her not to like that.” He nipped at the air beside her neck, and whispered, loudly enough for Ubel to hear, “Let’s go home, lover.”
Ubel’s hot eyes were still fixed on Angel’s hands on Buffy’s body. His breath was coming shortly, and he was flushed again. “Wait just a moment,” he said, his voice high and tremulous. He held up a soft paw, inching closer, still staring at Angel’s hands.
“No,” Buffy told him, and her tone was anything but the meek play thing she knew she looked like. It didn’t matter any more whether she trusted Angel. Something about Ubel was wrong, off, and if he so much as said another word, she was going to kick his pudgy ass.
Angel growled a little, near her ear. “Can’t you see she’s impatient?” he demanded. One of his hands dropped to her leg, dragging upward, pulling her skirt higher.
Ubel watched Angel’s hand push Buffy’s skirt up her thigh, fascinated. His eyes were shiny, aroused. His hand covered Angel’s, and he pulled the vampire’s hand up Buffy’s leg toward her center. “That’s it,” he breathed. “A little higher.”
It all happened so fast. She would’ve kicked Ubel where it hurt, had it been her choice. She’d been planning on it, but an older, more experienced vampire could still move faster than her in small bursts-if she wasn’t completely focussed. When Buffy heard bones cracking, her first thought was that Angel was killing him-but he couldn’t, because of the chip. Right?
When what had happened registered, Angel was standing beside her, Ubel was cradling his broken wrist, and was . . . laughing. Ubel was laughing. “We’re so glad you’re back, Angelus,” he said, stressing the last syllable. Then he turned around and walked away, disappearing into the shadows.
Buffy lunged forward, but he had literally disappeared. He was really gone-completely, confirming her suspicions. Ubel Knopf had not been all human.
*
Go to chapter 14
A/N: Big thanks to a2zmom who has picked up on my fault of over-explaining characters until they're no longer interesting.
from 12:
Angel, looking vexed, a little bored, said, “What are you talking abou-”
“Gypsies.”
Chapter 13
Silence.
“Surely you remember the Romany, brother? That was you, wasn’t it? Our records are generally so very . . . accurate.”
“What was me?”
Buffy couldn’t read anything from the flat tone of his voice, and had to resist the urge to turn and see his face. Of course, she knew there were things, big things, he hadn’t told her. She had even known they might get her into trouble. Still, hearing this man reference some mystery that might endanger her for being there, a mystery he might have revealed himself, was not pleasant. Of course, it was very possible that Angel’s whole lost, tortured attitude had just been a ploy to draw her into a trap of some kind. Even if he had a chip, his behavior now made a lot more sense than his behavior before this-his gentleness, his uncertainty, his attempts to be more human.
“The favorite daughter of the Kalderash tribe,” Ubel was answering, surprised. “Don’t you remember, mein liebling? Perhaps it wasn’t you. I was so certain . . . . Forgive me. But you don’t remember, do you? She wore flowers in her hair . . .”
Stupid Herbal Essence.
Angel visibly relaxed. She couldn’t tell whether the action was natural or a studied attempt to remain calm. “Yeah, I remember her. Beautiful. Dumb as a post. Tasted good, though.”
Buffy stiffened. He was a vampire. It should come as no surprise-and yet, he had never mentioned feeding off of anyone before now, never even mentioned killing anyone. Vampires usually couldn’t wait to brag-especially to a Slayer-about all the people they’d killed. Of course, he probably should mention it now, so that EEK didn’t suspect anything about the chip, but hearing about murder from someone firmly in her “can’t bite me” column still sent her shivering. And then Angel’s hand was on Buffy’s neck, idle, sensuous, trailing down over her breasts and gripping one of her thighs again. It was all she could do not to break each of his fingers, and almost as much as she could do not to feel aroused by his touch.
“Oh, yes, tee-hee,” Ubel giggled, eyes practically dancing as he watched the languorous movement of Angel’s hand. “‘Dumb as a post,’ yes, that’s very funny. How very amusing.” He dabbed at his face, as if wiping away tears of laughter, but his eyes seemed impervious to the soft, manic workings of his face. For a split-second, his gaze darted to Buffy. She tried not to gulp, or do anything, really. And then, so quickly she must have dreamed it, she thought she saw him . . . wink.
Just as quickly, the gaze sidled away. Buffy swallowed hard, doing everything she could to pretend it hadn’t happened.
“Naturally she was tasty,” Ubel was rambling on, “considering how well-loved she was, well-loved enough to . . . cause resentment. But you wouldn’t . . . . Pardon me, but would you know anything about that? I was under the impression . . . I could be mistaken, of course . . . . But I heard that the gypsies took revenge on the vampire who killed that daughter. Oh! Forgive my prying question-I really hate to be bothering you this way; I am sure you know nothing about it!-but . . . What do you know about it?”
Angel rolled his eyes, acting as though he was more interested in his fingers tracing little circles on Buffy’s thigh. She realized that she should probably be reacting, acting pleased, touching him in return, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Not when she was thinking about Angel drinking the blood of a gypsy girl who had worn flowers in her hair. Not under these circumstances and not under that man’s eyes. He was still riveted by Angel touching her; a faint blush had risen in his flabby cheeks, and he was practically panting. How far should she let this go before she decided to stop trusting Angel? Had Ubel really winked at her?
“I had a fang-ache a couple weeks ago,” Angel said lazily. “Think that was their revenge?”
“Oh-ho-ho,” Ubel chuckled breathlessly, face growing redder still. “Splendid. A tooth-ache, you say? How intriguing. So much for the legendary power of the Romany. A splendid answer to my question. Excuse me. Everything appears to be in perfect order. Yes, perfect. Are you perfectly sure there wasn’t . . . ?”
“There wasn’t anything left of the Kalderash tribe by the time we were through with them. Now are we going to do business or am I going to do dinner?”
“Dinner! Oh, now mein Lieber . . . Let’s not get feisty. I’m more of a dessert, really . . . quite sweet, you know, so very . . .” He trailed off, eyes drifting toward Buffy, and whispered in a wet voice, “Sweet.”
There. He definitely did it that time. He winked.
Buffy had to repress the urge to vomit.
Then suddenly his attention snapped back to Angel and his voice was firm and business-like. “Now, Angelus, there are only these few forms to fill out, just a few; let me find them . . . .”
Ubel opened the satchel on the desk and withdrew a sheath of papers, a plastic triangle on the left-hand corners holding them together. Angel reached out for them, and Ubel, smiling, held them away. “We simply need your signature, and this information, of course, and then we can reopen your account . . . and transfer the money, of course . . . . Oh, I suppose you want these,” Ubel said, finally handing the papers to Angel.
Scowling, Angel grabbed them, examining the first page and then rifling through the others. Then he stood and took one of the pens from the stand on the desk, and scribbled something on one of the pages, using the desk to write on. Ubel adjusted the desk lamp, turning the metal shade so that the light shone on the pages. Angel looked at him in annoyance. “Want to get that thing out of my way?” he said.
“What? Oh yes, how silly of me, how terribly silly! I forgot about your vision,” Ubel exclaimed, moving the lamp back. He smiled apologetically and turned the shade until the light shone full on Buffy. It cast Ubel in a eerie contrast, his undefined features creating jumpy shadows in his face. As Angel stood over the desk, turning the pages and reading the papers, Ubel’s eyes slowly drifted to Buffy, a benign smile on his lips.
He had been smirking at her a long time when he finally said, “I like your scarf.” His smile widened.
Buffy’s eyes flicked to Angel, who seemed lost in concentration on the papers. His skin was ghostly in the half-light, his eyes too dark to see. She couldn’t decide whether it was more creepy to sit there and let Angel touch her-when it wasn’t Angel at all, when it was a vampire who drank gypsies and kept secrets from her and was full of toothy grins for charming Ubel here-or whether it was more creepy to have to deal with the EEK representative by herself, one on one, without Angel beside her. Neither option was actually very appealing.
By letting Ubel Knopf see them, and by letting him get away to spread the word among his cronies, she had already done what she’d come for. The Immortal’s henchmen would use EEK to find them, and she would find out what was going on with Acathla. At this point, she continued the charade only to keep EEK from suspecting them of foul play, so that they didn’t bring an evil bank down on their heads along with all of the Immortal’s cronies. The money didn’t matter.
She wanted to stand up and tell Ubel Knopf to go to hell. She wanted to get Angel out of there. She wanted him to act the way he had acted before. Then she wanted to go home, take this disgusting dress off, and scrub herself until she forgot she’d ever met him.
But it was too soon to give up, Buffy told herself, gritting her teeth. She’d come up with this plan, even though it was risky-in fact, she’d done it because it was risky-and now she needed to stick to it as long as she could. She couldn’t compromise them both because she had a bad feeling.
Her. She couldn’t compromise her. Angel didn’t matter. He was a vampire.
“Thanks,” was all Buffy said.
Except for the weird winking thing, Buffy hadn’t even been sure Ubel noticed her. Now, it seemed, he was all friendly interest. Intense friendly interest. “What’s your name?” he asked politely.
“You don’t need to-”
“Anne.”
“-know,” Angel finished, looking swiftly at Buffy and then back down at the papers.
“Oh,” Ubel tittered, looking from Angel to Buffy. “Ah. A little confusion there. Didn’t know which of you was going to answer, did I? Hee hee . . .” Ubel’s eyes settled on Buffy, and he wasn’t laughing any more. “What’s it like knowing you’re going to die soon?” he asked.
Angel didn’t turn to look at her, perhaps fearing that their answers would cross again. He remained silent. Buffy’s eyes shifted back to Ubel. “Mmf?” she suggested.
“You can’t be a donor forever. Soon enough, you’re just going to . . . run out.” He tittered. “But it’s good for now, isn’t it? And for him, too. Left-overs every night . . . you’re making him lazy.” Then once again, Ubel abruptly stopped laughing, and cocked his head. “Aren’t you, Annie?”
Normally, Buffy would’ve spoken. She even had a response lined up. Her tongue was itching to say it; she thought it was a rather good one. All witty and insulting and everything. Instead, she said “um.” Um and then: “What?”
Ubel chuckled. “My my . . . . Are you really the reason our dear, darling Angelus is so . . . . sedate these days? You don’t look left-over. You’re not very pale for a . . .” His hand was coming for her, coming to touch the end of her trailing scarf.
If this man touched her, he was going to die.
“She’s tasty, but I wouldn’t try her if I were you,” Angel suddenly said. He didn’t even look up from the papers.
Ubel dropped his hand. “Oh, no,” he whispered. His voice was eerily low, and Buffy wondered how she heard it. “I’m not a vampire.” Then he began to grin, and this grin was different than his other fleshy smiles. There was something dangerous in this grin-something deadly. His eyes never moved from Buffy’s.
“That’s everything,” Angel said, throwing down the pen. He walked around the desk and put a hand on Buffy’s shoulder, propelling her up to standing. He didn’t bother looking at her. “I’ve got to be going. There’s this delicious little virgin I’ve been stalking,” he explained to Ubel. “Wouldn’t want her to get ripe without me there to pluck her.”
“Ah, such a metaphor,” Ubel acknowledged, turning to Angel, his tone a little louder. “You really are very witty.” He didn’t sound amused at all any more. His eyes had narrowed, focused on where Angel’s hand still gripped Buffy’s shoulder. “And her?” he asked. “What does she do while you . . . stalk?”
“She watches,” Angel murmured, looking down at Buffy, his hand beginning to stroke her skin. His eyes were cold, hard, eyes of a creature she didn’t know and didn’t want to know.
Something was wrong. Something was going terribly wrong and she didn’t know what-
“And she likes it?” Ubel asked softly.
“Oh, she likes it,” Angel purred. His hand skimmed across her shoulders, and then he added his other hand to her other shoulder. Ubel shifted again where he sat, watching as if impatient. Angel changed his stance a little so that he was standing behind her, movements slow and languid. “She likes it when I take them, when they’re still alive . . . When I take them and they’re bleeding to death.”
In the split instant before she jerked away, Angel was suddenly on her, wrapping himself around her, much more intimately than earlier when he had adjusted himself to their cover story outside. She could feel his knee pressing between her thighs, his hand resting on her breast.
Now that was too far.
And then Buffy felt Angel’s hand at the small of her back, and she immediately went limp. The hand by her chest, the hand Ubel could see, was languid, possessive. The other, hidden hand was urgent, petting small, frantic circles against her back-as if soothing a wild animal. Begging her not to react.
She could read his body language as if that body was made for her.
Buffy stiffened-closed her eyes-and gave in. She wasn’t sure where it came from, this trust, perhaps from the way his body so easily fit hers, the way she instinctively knew what he wanted. Whatever it was, she trusted him. She knew with sudden certainty that he was not going to hurt her. Desperately, she tried to relax.
“Does she?” Ubel was musing, stroking his lips with a drooping hand. “I wonder.” He looked away, as if contemplating something. After several long moments, he asked suddenly, “Did you know there is more than one Vampire Slayer these days?” His eyes fixed on Angel’s hands moving over Buffy, his mouth sagging open, his hand dropping down to his thigh. “Maybe you should be careful stalking-and plucking-little ladies on the streets, mein Lieber.”
“I don’t have to worry about that,” Angel said, unconcerned. “There isn’t a Slayer in Manhattan. I wouldn’t be having so much fun, otherwise. Look at that!” he marveled, turning Buffy’s head with a broad palm. “She gets wet when anyone mentions me with little girls.” Suddenly, he lipped a kiss on Buffy’s neck.
She writhed, pushing him away. Before she was in a position to land a punch, however, she heard Ubel’s swift gasp and the patter of his clapping, sweaty hands. “Oh!” Ubel chanted in excitement, heat flaring in his tone and eyes. “But she doesn’t like that!”
She paused. In the moment of that pause, Angel pulled her back into his arms, the hand again frantic at the small of her back. “Of course she doesn’t like that,” Angel growled, male satisfaction evident in his tone, belying everything that that hidden hand was saying. “I like her not to like that.” He nipped at the air beside her neck, and whispered, loudly enough for Ubel to hear, “Let’s go home, lover.”
Ubel’s hot eyes were still fixed on Angel’s hands on Buffy’s body. His breath was coming shortly, and he was flushed again. “Wait just a moment,” he said, his voice high and tremulous. He held up a soft paw, inching closer, still staring at Angel’s hands.
“No,” Buffy told him, and her tone was anything but the meek play thing she knew she looked like. It didn’t matter any more whether she trusted Angel. Something about Ubel was wrong, off, and if he so much as said another word, she was going to kick his pudgy ass.
Angel growled a little, near her ear. “Can’t you see she’s impatient?” he demanded. One of his hands dropped to her leg, dragging upward, pulling her skirt higher.
Ubel watched Angel’s hand push Buffy’s skirt up her thigh, fascinated. His eyes were shiny, aroused. His hand covered Angel’s, and he pulled the vampire’s hand up Buffy’s leg toward her center. “That’s it,” he breathed. “A little higher.”
It all happened so fast. She would’ve kicked Ubel where it hurt, had it been her choice. She’d been planning on it, but an older, more experienced vampire could still move faster than her in small bursts-if she wasn’t completely focussed. When Buffy heard bones cracking, her first thought was that Angel was killing him-but he couldn’t, because of the chip. Right?
When what had happened registered, Angel was standing beside her, Ubel was cradling his broken wrist, and was . . . laughing. Ubel was laughing. “We’re so glad you’re back, Angelus,” he said, stressing the last syllable. Then he turned around and walked away, disappearing into the shadows.
Buffy lunged forward, but he had literally disappeared. He was really gone-completely, confirming her suspicions. Ubel Knopf had not been all human.
*
Go to chapter 14