DISCLAIMER: Joss, high priest of coolness, please take no offense that I have borrowed your wonderful characters. I don't own them, I don't presume to own them, don't sue or kill me, wonderful people at WB!
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Part Five
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Willow's throat tightened painfully, already dry from a night of abject terror. She scrambled over the bed, mussing the clean linen, trying to put as much distance between herself and the vampire. He seemed to be enjoying himself. Shoving the furniture back up against the door, he flashed his brilliantly white set of fangs. "So no one will disturb us." Painstakingly, he set down the two glasses, filling both up with the wine. Willow expected it to be a dark red, to fit the sequence of events. It was white. Why not at least a pink color, she thought. Symbolism never comes through for you when you really need it.
Angelus perched on the edge of her nightstand, gently taking a glass between thumb and forefinger. He hissed, "Join me for a drink?" After a moment, he added the word "Please." Willow's eyes met his, and she slowly crept out from behind the bed, concealing something in either hand. "Ahh. Now that's a good girl. You always were the smartest one in the group. I mean that, seriously. You know when you're beaten, and when—" Angelus' eyes widened, and then turned red as the container of Holy Water hit him in the face. Then she pressed the crucifix against his nose, the sides searing the flesh of his eyes. Willow was shocked. She'd done it before, sure, but not to someone as powerful as Angelus. And not in such a concentrated effort. He was almost motionless. Still, she held aloft the cross, between the cowering Angel and herself. Her last defense, though she didn't seem to need it.
Angelus was slumped forward, face steaming. It was like he was trying to grind his skin off into her carpeting. He moaned piteously. Willow's face softened in reverence of all the fond memories of Angel. She was sorry he had to go through this. However, now wasn't the time for memories. How to take care of the vampires outside? She had just reached her door when she became aware of a sort of soft chuckle from behind. She whirled, holding the cross.
Angel was death incarnate. His whole face was an inhuman shade of red, as if the blood spilled out from every individual pore. His eyes were bloodshot, the near black irises and pupils the only thing providing points of origin on his oozing exterior. Willow shrieked at the very sight, vaguely wondering how he next managed to knock the cross from her hands. He pinned her against the wall, exposing her neck. She could feel something hot and wet drip onto her bared shoulder. "I was hoping we could have done this the nice way. I always liked you, Willow. It was never anything personal, just …Buffy. Unfortunately for you, I'm going to have to take the rough approach. Say Hi to God for me." She felt his fangs pierce…
* * *
(Willow's House-Downstairs)
Oz groaned, catching snatches of a conversation. The thought that he was possibly dead crossed his mind. Then things began to come into focus. Willow's living room lay before him. His shoulders hurt very much, and he was pretty sure that lying on glass shards wasn't a good thing. He groaned.
"He's moving! Be quiet!"
"He is not moving! You're paranoid."
"Angel told us not to touch him!"
"Screw Angel. I'm hungry now."
"Didn't you hear what he said about dogs?"
"I've been to China. They ain't half bad tasting, once you get used to them."
"Is that a fact?"
"Yeah. Now help me get the rope in there."
"What are we doing again?"
"Well, we ain't invited."
"Yeah. And?"
"Well, see, it's like the crane game at amusement parks. Aim the crane right…"
Oz felt a soft pressure settle around his shoulders.
"Catch a prize! Pull, lads!"
The noose tightened around his neck, and he shouted as stabbing pain shot through his glass-studded body. Frantic, his brain also realized that he couldn't breathe. He felt himself rise, his neck muscles stretched to the point of snapping as he was pulled. Vampiric claws brushed his hair.
"Almost there… Come on, he's almost out!"
Oz the human would have given up at this point. Fortunately, the moon was still shining brightly through the trees. And Oz, the werewolf, wasn't finished yet. He surrendered himself to the change.
Whiny vamp heard the thump as the boy hit the wall. He turned, urging the others on. Seeing Oz's head peek out of the top of the window, he reached a hand out, burying it in soft Auburn hair…
…and only blinked when it became gray, coarse fur.
Whiny vamp didn't even scream until he'd lost a hand.
* * *
(The Graveyard)
Buffy paused in mid-stake as a bloodcurdling scream pierced the quiet, Sunnydale air. Driving the stake home, turning a sloppy vampire to dust, she tried to pinpoint the source.
As she broke into a run, she thought gloomily, "No rest for the Slayer."
* * *
(Willow's House)
It didn't take long for Ozwolf to dismember Whiny Vamp. The other three vampires watched in horror as the wolf yanked his arm off, using only his teeth. The four of them ran down the street, not relishing a fight with a werewolf.
Ozwolf's instincts told him to follow them. To kill them, to destroy them. They were foul, evil. Bad. He vaulted out of the window, landing on all fours, lacking the time to paw off his clothes, the converse shoes already split open by claws. They ran off into the darkness, in separate directions. Ozwolf was momentarily distracted, and his human self managed the incredible feat of slipping in a word. Willow. He stopped, sniffing the air.
To wolves, beauty and admiration are held in completely different and abstract terms. To try and describe them in human terms would be an exercise in futility. Suffice it say that Oz, in one bounding leap, drove himself back through the window, to the foot of the stairs and up, snarling as he went, for the most important thing in the world to his wolf and human side. Willow.
* * *
Buffy reached the edge of Willow's street just in time to see an angry werewolf leap into her house through a broken window. She broke into a dead run, determination pouring from every footfall. She was certain of only one thing:
Oz was on the loose again, and she had to stop him before he got to Willow!
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