Chapter Ten

"Dust the skinny one and make sure the big one sees it happen. Disable the big one -- hurt him as much as you want, but don't allow him the mercy of death."

Everything turned into a blur after that. Instinct overtook Angel; his body moved to block and punch more quickly than he would have been able to think about it, had thinking been necessary. Almost before he knew what was happening, there were two bodies on the floor, and he had an axe in his hands.

He knew he'd killed one of the demons, and that Wes had somehow managed to kill the other after Angel had knocked it down. Even as he was realizing this, the axe in his hands was making sharp, bloody contact with the head of a third demon. The creature collapsed heavily onto the floor, the blade of the axe still buried in its skull, and Angel had to yank forcefully back on the handle to get it free.

Which was when he saw a sight that made his blood run cold... colder. The other three demons were surrounding Wes, and no matter how quickly Wesley applied his stolen sword in blocking moves, the bastards were getting through. Wesley was covered in blood and looking desperate.

Angel was across the room in five or six steps, barely noticing as his boots crunched through the splintered remains of a piece of wooden furniture. With a strong swing, he buried the head of the axe between the closest demon's shoulder blades, then used all of his weight to wrench the dying creature out of his way. It bumped into its nearest comrade, knocking the second demon over as well.

Wes dived to one side, narrowly avoiding what would have been a killing blow, then darted out of view, leaving Angel to deal with the remaining two demons. Something that should have been easy enough had all the dead ones actually been, well, dead. But as Angel kicked one of his foes in the armour-plated gut, sending it hurtling backwards into the wall, while blocking a blow from the second, a third demon, one of the supposedly dead ones, grabbed his head from behind and started to twist.

Struggling frantically, Angel stomped a booted heel down onto the demon's toes and brought the handle of the axe back sharply into the thing's mid-section, but it didn't react at all. Christ, it was strong. He was aware of movement off to the side, one of the other demons coming in closer. He didn't know where Wesley was.

He clamped down on a surge of worry that Wes might have taken the opportunity to run away, and attempted to twist in the demon's grasp, to move in the same direction his head was being forced. But the other two demons had him now, and with grins horribly reminiscent of the Beast, they held him rigid while the demon behind Angel squeezed and twisted.

Despite tensing his neck muscles hard, Angel could feel his vertebrae being stretched apart. He was starting to get seriously worried, when there was an explosion seemingly right beside his ear, leaving it ringing. The grip on his head was released.

Angel staggered slightly, then took advantage of the motion and ripped his right arm away from the demon on that side. He had no clue what had just happened. He didn't know where the axe had gone, so he punched the demon holding his left arm directly in the face.

There was another loud noise -- now that it was further away from his ears, Angel could make it out as a gunshot. The demon to his right groaned and staggered away from him, and a third shot rang out. A hot spatter of gore -- didn't smell like blood exactly -- hit the side of Angel's face at the same time his left arm was released, and the third demon sank heavily to the floor.

"They're not necessarily dead," came Wesley's voice from behind him, sounding cold in the way that Angel knew from experience meant his friend was repressing some big emotion. "We should dismember them. I don't recognise the species."

Wesley was wet with blood, his shirt soaked with it and a vivid splash painted across the side of his face and throat. "How much of that is yours?" Angel asked, bending to pick up the axe where it lay on the floor. There was no sign of Edith Brenton of course. She'd obviously used the demons as her getaway distraction.

Wes wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, but only made things worse as he smeared demon gore over his lips. He licked them cleaner with an expression of distaste. "Some. Theirs might look like blood, but it tastes like bitter aloes. I hope it's not corrosive."

Angel nodded and swiped his fingers through the gore on his own jaw, looking at it. "Seems okay," he said. "Other than the smell." He hefted the axe and turned toward the nearest demon. As he set about beheading the attackers, Wes was silent. And when, job finished, Angel looked around the room for him, the younger vamp was nowhere to be seen.

"Wesley?" With the axe still in his hand, Angel moved further back into the apartment. "Wes?"

"I'm upstairs," came the distant answer. "I... I'll come down." Angel could hear footfalls above him now.

He moved to the foot of the staircase and waited while Wes started down. "You okay?" Wes didn't answer, but his expression was pained. "Sorry," Angel apologized. "Stupid question. Where'd you get the gun?"

"There's a secret drawer in the phone unit. I knew it was there." Wes stopped in front of Angel. "Are you hurt at all?"

Angel shook his head. "No. What about you?" He reached a hand out, wanting to touch Wes, to reassure himself that Wes was okay, but unsure how it would be received.

Wes bent his head and allowed himself to be examined. "They carved several chunks out of me. It presumably will all heal with enough blood." He didn't sound like he cared much, but he pressed his cheek into Angel's hand as it touched him there. Seeking comfort maybe.

"You did good," Angel told him, moving in closer. "I take it she's not upstairs?"

"No," Wes replied tightly; he seemed to be wavering on the spot. "Angel..."

Dropping the axe to the floor and wrapping an arm around Wes' waist, Angel guided him back toward the couch in the other room. "Easy," he said.

"I'm all right," Wes insisted, but he leant into Angel's partial embrace. "I'm just a little... disquieted."

Angel pushed Wesley gently down onto the couch. He wasn't sure he could handle hearing whatever it was Wes was going to say. "We should get you cleaned up," he suggested, glancing at the kitchen and wondering if there'd be some towels in there.

"I could take a shower if you wish," Wes offered dully. "I suspect my spare clothes are still here."

"You want to do that?" Angel asked. From Wes' tone of voice -- or lack thereof -- he couldn't tell what Wes wanted. Jesus, he was so conflicted. For the umpteenth time he found himself thinking how much harder this was than he would have imagined. How the hell was he supposed to separate this non-Wes from the Wesley he'd known? How was he supposed to not care that this Wesley was upset?

"They nearly killed you." Wes said, which wasn't an answer at all.

"Oh." Angel crouched down and looked up at Wes, trying to figure out what was going on inside his head. "Yeah. But we're okay." He touched Wesley's knee as he realized for the first time that Wes could have let them kill him and been free, if he'd wanted to. "You did good," he said again, awkwardly.

Wesley's expression was pained and beseeching, although it wasn't exactly clear what he was begging for. "Angel..."

Relenting from his earlier stance of not wanting to know, Angel sighed and let his thumb slide back and forth across Wes' knee. "What? Talk to me."

But Wes didn't talk, not at first. Instead, he seemed to take Angel's words as permission to slip to his knees beside him. Wes wrapped his arms around Angel, holding him tightly. Finally he murmured, so softly that even Angel's ears had trouble hearing, "You can't die. I won't allow it. Too many are gone."

Angel put his own arms around Wes. "It's okay. I'm fine."

"She won't rest, Angel. She won't give up until one or both of us are dust."

"We don't know that," Angel said, shifting his weight and then half-lifting Wesley up onto the couch where they'd be more comfortable.

"Yes, we can," Wes argued, sounding more heated now. "Think how you would be if someone took... if someone killed Buffy."

"Someone did," Angel reminded him, feeling a familiar tightness in his chest.

Wesley winced, but persisted doggedly. "Technically no, as she sacrificed herself. But perhaps you are beyond revenge, as you say. But most of us are not. Not when a person matters so entirely that without them existence seems meaningless."

Angel remembered in a flash that moment when he'd decided to turn Wesley -- not that it was that cut and dried, and not that he'd have used the word *meaningless*. "You really think she won't be satisfied until we're dead? She told them to kill you but *not* me."

"She wants me dead so that you will suffer further; that much is obvious. But I imagine that, if you are dusted along the way, she'll lose her interest in me. Which would be very foolish of her indeed." Wesley's little smile was dark and unpleasant.

As much as he wished he didn't, Angel understood that smile. "You think she deserves to die."

"When the equation is kill or be killed, then the solution is obvious." Wesley's tone was firm and matter-of-fact, but it softened as he added, "You are so much more important to the world than she is." Fingertips softly stroked Angel's face as Wes looked at him with great... affection?

"There's got to be another way," Angel said stubbornly. "What about prison? If we could get her to confess..." Wes just smiled gently at him, as if he knew perfectly well that Angel didn't believe his own words. "We're not going to kill her," Angel repeated. God knew he didn't want this woman's death on his conscience along with her husband's, and he didn't want it on Wes' conscience either.

Wes frowned and drew back a little. "If she... if she kills you, I will ensure her death lasts weeks, months if I'm clever enough," he promised. "She's taken... everyone else, Angel. She isn't having you too."

"She's not." Angel found himself reaching for Wes' face again, needing to run his fingers across it. There was a cut on Wesley's jaw -- not very deep, but probably responsible for the blood that was drying on his face. He leaned forward and traced the edge of the cut with his tongue, and Wes shivered.

Tipping his head back, Wesley pressed his body closer. "Oh please. Angel, please..." Wes still wasn't saying what he wanted, but Angel thought he was getting the idea now.

The blood tasted like Wes, like Angel knew Wesley tasted even though this blood wasn't even really his. It made Angel hard. He slid his hand into Wes' hair, using the grip to turn the other vamp to face him, and then kissed him.

Wesley's lips still had the taint of bitter demon gore, but Angel didn't care, as the way Wes was responding to the kiss was molten and submissive and spoke compellingly to the predator inside Angel. It was making Angel harder still; making him desire more of the kind of sexual violence he'd already been indulging in too much with the fledgling.

Angel growled slightly, his teeth worrying at Wes' lower lip. "Good boy," he said roughly, and the words encompassed half a dozen emotions that he wouldn't have been able to separate.

Wes moaned at the words and began to tug at Angel's shirt, pulling it from his pants, and slipping in a hand to paw with hard fingers at the bare skin underneath. "Angel," he repeated for the countless time. For a man of long words, Wes' vocabulary sure became limited when he was feeling strongly about something.

Letting Wesley's hands do as they would, Angel kissed him harder, tearing at Wes' already-ruined shirt. The fabric was damp with blood and shredded in at least one place, and he needed to get his hands on Wes. On *this* Wes, he had to admit to himself, feeling a surge of affection for the fledgling who'd effectively saved his life. Who'd been so visibly affected by the thought of Angel's possible death. Whoever this Wesley was... he really did care about Angel.

Wes tensed as Angel's hand closed tight on the broken flesh of his upper arm, and his hips thrust forward, apparently with an aroused reaction to the pain. He clambered around on the sofa, moving over Angel so that he was sitting astride his sire, his hands still moving under Angel's shirt as Angel thrust his tongue into Wes' mouth possessively.

Angel pushed his hips up, rubbing his cock against the inside of Wes' thigh through the layers of their slacks and sliding his hands around to Wesley's ass to pull him in closer. Angel's mouth left Wesley's in favor of sliding down across Wes' throat to his chest, where a deeper cut -- now shallower as it healed -- had left another smear of blood.

"Uhh," Wes grunted, as Angel's tongue explored the wound, probing inside. "God." He brought his hands abruptly up, ripping Angel's shirt apart in the process, and while tangling his fingers in Angel's hair, he pressed Angel's face to his chest. Simultaneously, Wes was rotating his hips, pressing his erection against anything he could touch and driving Angel a little bit crazy with need.

Need. Angel needed to be inside Wes. He stood up, hands still cradling Wesley's ass, grinding their cocks together as he moved, then let Wes slide down to the floor. "Take off the rest of your clothes," he murmured against Wes' lips. "Now."

Wesley's face was half-smiling, half a rictus of hungry lust, as he tore his pants from himself, his gaze never leaving Angel's. Shoes kicked off and flying across the room, Wes then pressed his now naked body against Angel's, moving wantonly, while making a little growling noise deep in his throat.

Angel's hands explored Wes' skin carefully, but not gently, as they kissed again. He traced a finger down Wesley's spine, feeling each vertebra in turn, and then moved lower down between his buttocks, probing. "Turn around," he ordered, stepping back and gesturing at the couch. "I want you on your knees."

Wesley's aroused stare held Angel's again for a few intense moments, before the fledgling turned and did exactly as Angel wanted, kneeling on the couch and leaning his arms on the seat back. Wes moved his legs apart invitingly; an unspoken plea of 'possess me' inherent in the posture.

With a growl of satisfaction, Angel took the two steps necessary to put himself behind Wesley and grabbed onto Wes' slender hips. He leaned in close, his lips on Wes' back, licking; his teeth biting at the pale skin. He let the fabric of his slacks rub against Wesley's ass and then reached around Wes' cock, circling it with his fingers. Wesley whimpered, thrusting into Angel's grip and then back against his body.

There was a small but deep gash just under Wes' shoulder, still actively bleeding, and Angel found he was watching the wound, almost mesmerised, as Wes writhed in reaction to the tight grip around his shaft. Angel licked the gash, the taste of the blood filling his senses in a way that nothing else ever could.

He sucked at the wound gently, encouraging blood flow, then moved lower. His tongue trailed over the small of Wes' back, then skipped over Wesley's ass in favor of licking his balls. Angel's hand still held Wes' cock firmly, letting the other vamp thrust into his grip as he would.

And thrust Wes did, releasing a string of guttural grunts, and whimpering every time Angel's tongue touched him. "You want me to fuck you?" Angel asked in a low voice. He flicked the tip of his tongue over Wes' tight opening, dampening it.

"God. Angel, *please*..." Wes pushed himself back against Angel's face, shuddering, and it wasn't clear whether he was asking for more tongue or to be fucked. Maybe he didn't know; maybe he didn't care which, just wanted one of them urgently.

Angel didn't want to wait any more either -- his own cock was straining against the front of his pants, begging for release. He straightened up, and one-handed, he got his slacks open and stroked himself a couple of times, spreading the pre-come around a little bit. He lined himself up and pushed into Wes slowly, closing his eyes at the sensation, and refusing to let himself think about how different it would have felt had Wesley still been alive. "Good boy," he said again, and tightened his grip on Wes' cock.

The gasp Wesley made, and the way his body tensed around Angel's length, told Angel that Wes would come very soon if he did nothing to prevent it, so Angel moved his grip to the base of Wesley's shaft and tightened it further, to the point of pain. Wesley's sharp answering cry spoke to Angel deep in his balls, and he thrust hard inside the tight, welcoming ass.

"That's it," he growled softly. "You like it, don't you." He picked up the pace, fucking Wes more roughly, taking pleasure in the fact that he didn't have to be gentle.

"Of course -- I bloody well -- like it," Wes staggered out between the hard thrusts inside of him. As that had sounded like insolence to Angel, and maybe also just because he wanted to, Angel dug the fingers of his free hand into Wesley's hip, hard enough to leave instant bruising. Wes jolted back against him.

Angel knew he wasn't going to last long himself -- not with the smell of blood in the air and the taste of it still in his mouth -- and he decided that didn't matter. He forced his cock deeper into Wes and loosened his grip on Wes' rock-hard erection, sliding his hand up closer to the head as he started to thrust even faster. "God... Wesley..."

"Angel, I... I... I... Oh God." Wesley's voice raised to a shout with a final cry of his sire's name before his butt cheeks clenched hard, and his body shook beneath Angel. The distinct scent of male orgasm filled Angel's nostrils, smelling, impossibly, almost better than blood.

It drove him over the edge too, to a place where everything was laid raw and bare and painful. As Angel came, pumping hard into Wes's body, he felt tears welling up. He didn't know whether to hold Wesley close or shove him away. All he knew was that he felt unbearably alone, and Wes -- *this* Wes -- was all he had left. He wrapped both arms around Wesley and closed his eyes as a last shudder ran through him.

***

Lord, he was frighteningly beautiful.

Wesley was lying in bed, perched on an elbow, and watching Angel sleep. They had come home after the adventure at Lilah's and talked very little, but they had proceeded to have a great deal more sex. Violent -- almost vicious -- sex that had been strangely emotional for both of them, and it had left Wesley energised and wanting still more. But Angel was exhausted and had fallen into a breathless and utterly still sleep that looked, to the eye alone, identical to death.

Yet Wes couldn't be more aware of the *living* power in every rolling muscle of the body he couldn't seem to move his gaze away from. It seemed oddly natural to watch Angel; he'd always done so, but he was only now able to do it so openly. And his sire looked more peaceful in sleep than he ever did awake.

Wes was worried for Angel, whose level of personal and existential angst -- never exactly inconsiderable -- must surely have rocketed after the events of the last few days. And indeed, the cracks were showing in Angel's façade of self-control. He had lost everybody dear to him -- even Wesley, as he persistently asserted that Wes was not himself -- and there was no doubt in Wesley's mind that Angel was blaming himself for all their deaths.

And Wes knew his own resentment for the way he was being treated was not helping Angel's state of mind at all. It wasn't that he wanted to drive Angel to a breakdown point -- on the contrary, Wes very much wanted him to remain strong -- it was just that Angel was so unbearably stubborn.

Wesley didn't believe Angel was actually incapable of understanding that Wes was still himself, despite the loss of the soul. It wasn't as if Wes had woken with amnesia -- he remembered everything, and the feelings he had for people were still the same. The only difference he could discern in himself was that all the ingrained rights and wrongs, that he had been trained so intensively to believe in and care about, no longer mattered at all.

That didn't make him a separate entity; it just made him an altered person. In much the same way as the human he'd been after stealing Connor, and the prolonged consequences of that foolish action, was altered from the human he'd been when first arriving in LA.

No, Wesley didn't accept that Angel was stupid enough to really believe Wes wasn't himself. There was a different reason for Angel's stubbornness, and that was to do with his issues regarding souls and the lack of them, and his desire to separate himself from the actions of Angelus.

So Angel was so determined to get Wesley's soul back, not seeming to hear when Wes tried to explain the ways in which this would most definitely not be a good thing. Wesley was doing the best he could to keep a tight rein on his own anger and frustration concerning this, but it was difficult. It hurt him more than he could have put into words that Angel refused to accept him as he was -- as if the soul was some shining beacon of perfection and without it he was a loathsome creature.

Although, of course, Wes had felt that way himself about the soulless once... but he hadn't fucked them into the mattress every night whilst feeling that way.

It made Wes want to throttle Angel, to beat his head against a wall until he admitted that he... Wesley sighed quietly. All such violence would achieve would be to prove his sire at least partially right.

Angel seemed to believe that Wes being re-souled would somehow turn back time and make everything the way it had once been. He kept blindly stumbling toward that goal, refusing to admit that their situation would remain just as complicated, albeit in different ways, once it had been achieved.

There was no going back; there never was. Wesley knew that better than most.

The people they had lost, the people they themselves had once been, could never be returned to them. Because they were free-willed creatures in a dimension subject to time in which they could only move forward; change and entropy were as irremediable as they were inescapable.

Of course, some people weren't given the opportunity to change, regardless of whether or not they might have. Wesley pushed himself into a sitting position carefully, trying not to contemplate Lilah and might-have-beens because he knew that doing so would only result in a mood that would be... difficult to dispel.

There was something he had to do for her, and it would also be for Angel, although his sire would never understand why.

Wesley slipped out of bed, and grabbing his clothes on the way, he left the room. Downstairs in the office, he rapidly got himself dressed. He had to work quickly, not just because Angel might wake and look for him, but also because dawn was only a few hours away.

Turning on the computer, Wes went through the pockets of his jacket. As well as Lilah's gun that Angel had either forgotten about, or didn't care that Wes still had, there was also another item he'd picked up from Lilah's bedroom, where the sheets had still held the scent of her perfume and...

And he wasn't meant to be thinking about her, was he? Wes sighed heavily.

The crumbled piece of paper he pulled from his pocket was a wrapper for three ounces of boraba root resin, a common magical ingredient used in summoning. There was no maker's or supplier's name on the wrapper, just a poorly printed stamp of an Aztec face. Wesley was certain he'd seen it somewhere before.

As he waited for the computer to boot up, he brought the wrapper up to his face and inhaled, drawing in the smell of it, trying to cover up the memory of Lilah with one that would actually prove to be of assistance in some way. The scent of the resin was still strong on the paper, bitter and somewhat oily. He spread the wrapper flat on the desk next to the keyboard and looked up at the computer screen as it finished its routine.

It didn't actually take him long to find what he was looking for. A search of the on-line store of a large mail order business based in New Orleans revealed small photographs of spell components with identical labelling, and revealed the original supplier of the products to be Condor Tears. A quick search under that name provided a local address; within walking distance in fact.

Wesley's smile was icy cold.

He checked the clock -- three hours until sunrise. Plenty of time to take care of this particular bit of business and then he'd be one step closer to getting his hands on Miss Edith Benton. Wesley grabbed a couple of daggers from the weapons case and then headed out into the night.

The air was cool, and the city was as quiet as it ever managed to be. Wes trotted through the streets and back alleys, not allowing himself to get distracted by the freedom to feed on living blood, or the scents and sights inviting him to do so.

What he was planning was risk enough, and considering Angel's unstable state of mind currently, Wes knew that the risk of capital punishment was high. Angel, Wesley knew, would regret killing Wes once it was done, but that didn't mean he wouldn't become murderous in the heat of anger. And if Wes had eaten innocents while out, the likelihood of this happening would be much higher.

Wesley knew that Angel must have been different with the other vampires he'd created, as the return of his soul had doubtlessly turned him into another kind of sire altogether. Still, Wesley couldn't help but wonder what Angel's relationship with his other fledglings had been like. He hadn't missed the oblique references to someone -- Wes assumed it was Spike -- over the last few days.

Wes knew Angel's relationship with Spike was complex and filled with rivalry and combativeness, and yet both remained undusted, despite ample opportunity to change that. While Drusilla was technically Spike's sire, Wes saw clear signs of a dysfunctional father-son dynamic between Spike and Angel. It was, after all, a dynamic Wesley knew a lot about. The difference being that Wes had always capitulated to his human father, whereas Spike seemed to be, from all that Wesley had read, a natural born rebel.

And even with Angel, Wesley's first impulse was always to submit to the will of the one who had made him. He couldn't help but feel special that he was the one fledgling in existence created by a souled vampire. The question of whether or not that actually made him special in *Angel's* eyes was one he wasn't certain he wished to contemplate too carefully. But his sire clearly took his 'parental' responsibilities seriously...

Which thought, of course, led Wesley to the issue of Connor. He might not feel guilty about killing the lad -- especially given the circumstances of the situation which meant that none of them could realistically be held responsible for their actions -- but he most definitely feared Angel's reaction to the news should he find out. Angel seemed to believe that Gunn had killed Connor, and Wes didn't want to correct that assumption.

There was far too much bad blood between them concerning the boy already. Not even death and waking up a vampire seemed to have had the ability to make Wes forget the horror of Angel's words. The ones that had accompanied the pillow, each one of them branded into his temporal lobes so deeply that he could reproduce them eidetically -- 'You think I'd forgive you? No! Never! You're gonna die! You hear me? You're gonna pay!'

Well, he had done; both things in fact, and Wes had no desire to meet that side of Angel again. Which made his presence in front of what looked like a private residence, and not at home obediently curled up with the other vampire in bed, a bit of a mystery. Wesley knew Angel would hit first, ask questions later -- if there was anything left to question.

He went up the short walkway quietly, moving as though he had every right to be there even though, as far as he could tell, there was no one nearby to protest his early morning visit. Presumably the people or person behind Condor Tears were running the small magical component business from home. It was clear from the curtains in the window and the narrow glimpse of the room beyond that Wesley would require an invitation to get inside. He stopped in front of the door.

Not wanting to waste any time, he pressed the bell and then knocked loudly, mentally preparing himself for what could very well be an unpleasant confrontation with someone who didn't appreciate being woken. Surprisingly, it was only a minute or two before he heard someone on the other side of the door. "Who's there?"

Speaking loud enough, he hoped, to be heard, Wes replied, "I'm trying to locate the proprietor of Condor Tears. It's a bit of an emergency, I'm afraid."

There was a moment of silence, then the decidedly male voice said, "It's the middle of the night. Can't it wait 'til morning?"

"No, it really can't. I'm sorry. I do understand how inconvenient this is."

Another hesitation, and then the sound of the door being unlocked. The man who pulled it open a few inches to look out was... average -- not particularly tall, sandy-coloured hair, wire-rimmed glasses not unlike Wesley's own. "What do you want?"

Wes hesitated, both to recover from the surge of hunger he always seemed to feel these days when confronted with a living human, and to consider what to say. "I'm afraid it's a matter of life and death, Mr...?"

"Brooks," the man said, opening the door another inch or two. "Joe. What is it?" He looked... nervous, but his twitchiness seemed to be more general, and not directed specifically at Wesley.

"I'm afraid that some of your products have been used with murderous intent, Joe, which is, of course, not your fault, but it does mean that I need some information from you before further deaths occur." Wes felt a little pride at how carefully he was phrasing things. Of course, he could just lie, but it was more of an enjoyable challenge this way.

Joe didn't seem as surprised to hear this news as Wesley might have imagined. He glanced over his shoulder quickly, and his eyes didn't quite meet Wesley's as he said, "Look, I'm really sorry, but I don't think I can help you."

Pondering Joe's nervousness and what it might mean, Wesley finally remembered to use his vampire senses. There was a smell of chronic fear on the man, rank and yet somehow erotic, and strong enough to disguise any other scents in the air unless one was specifically looking for them, which Wesley now was. And there, underneath Joe's sweat, was a scent familiar from earlier tonight.

Somewhere in this house was Wesley's prey.

"Are you a family man, Joe?" he asked seriously.

Joe took a step backward, but made no effort to close the door. "Are you threatening me?" There was a tinge of near-hysteria to the man's voice, as though he'd been close to the edge for some time and had just now realised it.

"On the contrary, I'm wondering what threat *she* holds over you." Wesley's voice was quiet but emphatic, and his gaze never wavered from the other man's eyes. "I can help you, Joe. Let me in."

Recognition flashed across Joe's face, fleeting but unmistakable. "You're a vampire."

Repressing a small smile, Wes improvised. "Yes, maybe you've heard me. I'm Angel, the vampire with a soul. Let me in, and she'll bother you no more. You have my solemn promise."

Joe leaned in a little bit closer, obviously torn. "She's got my wife and daughter," he said, very softly, the anguish clear on his face and in his voice. "She said --"

"I promise you she'll never reach them. Let me in, Joe."

The other man took a deep breath, and then nodded. "Okay. Okay. Come in--"

Wesley was inside the house quicker than Joe could finish his invitation.