Cordelia’s half-demon upgrade triggers unexpected side-effects forcing the team to put her on lockdown.
CONTENTS: C/A in AtS. Early season 3, post-ep: “Birthday”
GENRE: Smutty Humor
RATING: NC-17
LENGTH: Short Story / 16,000 words
CHALLENGE CREDIT: Luckylyn / Lysa Says: Challenge Me / Challenge #13
FICPIC CREDIT: Lysa

LOCKDOWN
CHAPTER 1:  Demon Glow-Up

“Easy there, Princess—last time you ‘floated’ the stapler I spent twenty minutes prying it out of the ceiling fan.”

Cordelia Chase rolled her eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn’t stick. “Jealous, much?” She said it with a grin while bantering with Gunn about her new half-demon super powers.

“Nah! I know who to call next time I need a night light.”

Halfway across the Hyperion lobby, one hand balancing a stack of dusty case files, Cordelia decided against trying to float the files over to the countertop. True, she had little control over any of it at this point. Things just happened. The glowy thing. Floating. Something else, too. Indefinable and simmering inside her.

Caught up in their fun tiff, she moved closer, to argue, “My visions come pain-free. Why should I worry about a few more perks?”

Gunn sat on one of the couches, legs spread wide to balance the thick wooden axe handle as he polished his favorite weapon. “Funky side-effects,” he wasn’t so sure they were a plus.

A soft huff dismissed his concern. Cordelia liked her cool new skills. “Think of it as an upgrade. Free levitation with every vision. Better than a massage.”

“I’ll stick to hitting the gym.”

Standing next to him now, Cordelia’s gaze dropped to the slow circles he made with the cloth against the gleaming metal, and the way his other hand gripped the handle. She felt flushed all of a sudden and found herself breathing a little hard as her gaze tripped up the muscles of his forearm to his shoulders. Before she could think about it, Cordy reached out to let her fingers follow that same path.

Gunn gave her an odd look as the contact seemed overtly familiar, even for touchy-feely Cor. Her hand lingered against his shoulder and upper back drawing concentric circles, her warm palm pressing through the thin polyester of his NBA jersey. Those massaging fingers felt good enough to distract him for a moment.

Cordelia didn’t seem to notice that her little massage had crossed way past the normal bounds between them. Especially with Angel sitting a few yards away, and Gunn’s girlfriend somewhere inside the building. “You’re as stiff as that axe handle,” she drawled, voice dropping into that new husky register she hadn’t quite shaken since Skip’s light show. “Relax. Promise I won’t go full poltergeist on you.”

Rising to his feet suddenly, Gunn turned to face her, “Yeah, well keep that energy for the vamps, Princess. I’m good.”

“You’re getting all bulky and tight,” she said in a way that sounded far more flirtatious than medicinal.

“Damn, Cordy. You’re a little… I don’t know. Extra.”

Grinning, Cordelia instantly took that as a compliment. Visions weren’t her only forte now. The new abilities were definitely of the good. “Extra what?” Curiosity carried her forward until she stood close again, her hand curling around the axe handle right next to his. Gunn blinked at the brush of skin against his, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as if a fire was lit under him.

He gulped hard. “Back up off me with that glowy shit.” Clearing his throat, he managed the words while tilting the curved axe just enough to hide his reaction.

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you, Charles,” she huffed over him taking so long to get her point. “Skip said there would be ‘numerous and unpredictable’ effects—and I’m fine with that. Mostly.”

Gunn made one last ditch effort to get back to weapons cleaning. “Hey, I think Angel wanted those files.”

Her mouth formed a circle, “Oh, right,” work being the last thing on her mind. Angel’s name drew her focus again. At least long enough for Cordelia to move toward the reception desk to drop off the files.

From the far end of the counter, where he had been trying and failing not to eavesdrop, Angel’s pen stopped moving mid-signature on a check. He didn’t look up. Didn’t need to. The scent hit him first—sharp, unmistakable, threading through the stale lobby air like a live wire. Cordelia’s scent had always been bright and expensive, the kind of citrus-and-vanilla that used to make him think of luxury shampoo and sharper comebacks. This was different. Warmer. Deeper. It curled under his skin and made his fangs itch behind his gums for reasons that had nothing to do with blood.

“Am I being “extra” today?” Cordelia plopped the pile of manila folders on the countertop.

Angel reminded her, “You’re Cordelia Chase.”

She smiled instantly in that brilliant way that always mesmerized him. “I’ll bet you appreciate my new talents.”

Only one thing truly mattered—she lived. The rest was still up for judgement. Having noted every subtle shift in her behavior over the past three weeks, he definitely had mixed feelings on the subject. Ever since the birthday coma, since Skip, since she chose them over the white-light Hollywood ending. Half demon? His jaw tightened until the muscle jumped at the alternative: death. 

So, no—all he felt was a great sense of relief. But Gunn was not wrong—there was something ‘extra’ about Cordelia. Her ‘floaty thing’ wasn’t what concerned him the most. It was her scent. Still hers, but also different now. A mix of the familiar and something uniquely Cordelia that he couldn’t quite place, something that—

“Earth to Angel. Files.” Cordelia’s voice cut through the thought, bright and bossy as ever. She slid the manila folders toward him, her fingers brushing his knuckles. 

Just as soon as her duty was done, she turned her attention back to the lobby where Gunn had resumed his task. Never one to let go of an argument, whether it was serious or all in fun, she seemed intent upon returning to it. Angel barely rated a second glance. “Thanks,” he said with sarcasm that went unnoticed.

Cordelia leaned against the counter enjoying the cool surface against her back. Her gaze flitted back across the lobby, eying him up and down in a way that, to Angel, seemed to be far more than just curiosity or aesthetic regard—slow, appreciative, the kind of look that usually lingered on him. Catching himself before he said, “Gunn has a girlfriend,” Angel kept his mouth shut as a jealous twist churned in his gut. 

She crossed her arms in a way that pulled her sweater a little tighter. Angel forced himself to follow her gaze instead of focusing where his own landed. Gunn had finished with the axe and was testing it out with a few skilled moves. Those subtle changes in Cordy’s scent bloomed hot from one moment to the next—arousal, Angel recognized instantly. The tension built in his neck and shoulders as one resounding question echoed in his head—Why Gunn?

CHAPTER 2:  First Spark

Cordelia Chase woke up in her Silver Lake apartment brimming with restless energy. No post-vision fog, no headache—just this bright, fizzy thrum under her skin that made her want to move, shop, and maybe flirt a little. She stretched luxuriously, grinned at the ceiling, and called out, “Morning, Dennis! I’m taking the day off for some serious retail therapy.” A ghostly mug of coffee floated over and set itself neatly on her nightstand in reply. “You’re the best roommate ever.” 

One glorious shower later, hair and makeup perfected, and dressed in dark jeans, a fitted cerulean sweater and ankle boots, she was ready. “Hold down the fort, Dennis, and try not to rearrange my closet again.” She grabbed a jacket and the car keys on the way out.

The Hyperion was her first stop. A quick detour to pick up Fred who was already in the midst of tinkering with some experiment. “Shopping. Now.” Pulling her to her feet, Cordelia led her out before she could protest. “I need some new clothes that don’t scream ‘I almost died in a coma.’”

The Beverly Center food court was a zoo of tired shoppers, wailing kids, and silver foxes in walking shoes. Cordelia barely registered any of it. Two hours in, bags of this and that at their side, they took a pause at the Food Court for a much needed break. She was buzzing—skin overly sensitive, tingly, a strange ache low in her belly that wouldn’t quit. Although Fred was fun company comparing her pre-Pylea shopping experiences in huge Texas malls with this one, her attention drifted toward two total hotties seated nearby.

Cordelia’s tongue twirled around the tip of her straw, her mouth closing over to draw in a long gulp of Tropical Pearl smoothie as she soaked in their positive vibes. Tanned like they spent a lot of time in the sun. Casually dressed, but stylish designer wear. Perfectly groomed modern-cut hairstyles, highlighted and moussed just right. Expensive sport watches. Leaning in a little too closely across the table, sharing some kind of intimate conversation.

Nope. Obviously, gay. “At least someone’s getting some.”

“Do you want another one?” Fred asked after gobbling down the last few bites of her beef and cheese enchilada platter. “I think I’ll grab another taco or two. Want one?”

Absentmindedly, Cordelia answered, “One of those,” as a tall, broad-shouldered man walked past.

Fred glanced over her shoulder toward the long queue at the Sbarro Italian Eatery where Cordy appeared to be staring. “A slice?”

“A man.”

Half out of her seat, Fred plopped back down, a laugh gurgling in her throat. “This mall seems to have everything. Small, medium or large?” She paused for effect, but Cordelia was too busy oogling a man at a nearby table. The lightbulb flipped on. “Ohhhhh. You were serious.”

Cordelia traced up and down the edge of her tall straw as she stared at her latest find. The thirty-something hottie looked a little out of place in the middle of the mall like he’d just stepped out of a boardroom, all dark and debonair. She couldn’t take her eyes off him. ““Mr Three Piece Suit over there. He’s tasty—and has a talented tongue.”

Completely at odds with his business attire, he was eating an ice cream cone. Licking the creamy scoop and catching a slow drip with his tongue as it slipped down toward his fingers. The sight sent a little tingle straight through her.

Cordelia squirmed in her chair at the thought of taking it further. It had been so long since she’d even been on a date. Thanks to the creep who impregnated her with demon spawn, the whole idea of sex had lost some of its appeal… until the night of the ballet. The past couple of months she’d gone through bouts where it was all she could think about.

It so wasn’t her fault. That horny ballerina was to blame.

Why else would her body respond so eagerly like that to Angel of all people? A guy who was her friend. A vampire. Someone who’d seen her at her worst. God, she’d been eager for anything. All he could give her. Again. Now.

The memory of Angel’s lips brushing kisses across her belly brought a little moan to her throat. Wanting him to keep going. Or do the same to him. Then a sharp, “Ow!” followed when Fred’s bony elbow poked her in the ribs.

“You’re staring,” Fred hissed into her ear. “It’s really not polite to strip a man naked that way—”

Cordelia tensed. “Strip who?”

“Especially in front of his wife and kids.”

“Oh? Didn’t see them.”

Laughing, she finally turned her attention away from the stranger. “Oh, c’mon, Fred. We’re supposed to be having a little fun.” She took a long drag on the straw until she finished her smoothie enjoying the fruity taste.

“Shopping.”

“Like I told you…,” Cordelia’s eyes drifted toward a tall man who stepped into line at the Hot Dog on a Stick counter, “I like to do a little browsing before I make up my mind. Ooh, come to mama.”

Fred squinted, trying to see why the man would draw her interest. He wore a L.A. Lakers jersey tucked loosely into a pair of well-worn jeans. Tight butt. Long legs. She couldn’t see much of his face from this angle, but there was nothing that immediately suggested he was Cordy’s type.

“He’s nice enough, I suppose.”

Just ‘nice’? That was the understatement of the day. The man was cute with a capital I-Want-to-Pinch-Your-Ass. Warmth flushed her cheeks as the restless energy under her skin kicked into overdrive. She had to get closer. To see if he was the one.

Cordelia grabbed Fred’s wrist with one hand, her purse and packages with the other. “C’mon.”

“Uh, okay, but Cordy, this is kinda sudden—and I-I just don’t get it.” Fred’s glasses were halfway down her nose as their target turned around briefly. “He’s not half as cute as Charles.”

Stopping suddenly caused Fred to barrel into her. She released Fred’s wrist to issue a stern correction. “Gunn’s hot. Cute doesn’t cover it. If you hadn’t snapped him up…,” pausing for a one-shoulder shrug, “who knows.”

She let out a little secretive laugh and gave Fred a wink as her imagination took her someplace spicy.

“Hey!”

“Some men are just in a different league.”

A nod followed as Fred agreed with her. “Like Angel. Handsome. Strong. Heroic.” Each word accompanied that eager look she got when talking about strange Pylean words that had something to do with fate and champions. Or was that some kind of grog? Whatever. Angel came with a no-comshucking clause, which bothered her way more than it should.

It was depressing. Thinking about Pylea only made her think about her silly crush on the Groosaluug. Yet another guy who was off limits. Unlike Angel, at least Groo had the decency to be in another dimension when she didn’t want to be reminded why hot sweaty sex was out of the question.

“There are plenty of handsome, strong, heroic guys out there.” She waved an arm toward the rest of the food court. Pausing, she conceded, “Maybe not right now, but L.A. isn’t exactly Hokey Town, Texas.”

Eyeing the uninspiring Hot Dog on a Stick guy again, all Fred could say was, “Nope.”

“I know what I want,” Cordelia said firmly, “and I plan to get it.”

Sing-songing the words, Fred issued a warning, “Just wait until Angel finds out.”

“This has nothing to do with him. Just because we’re best friends doesn’t give him the right to interfere. It’s time I got on with my life now that I’m going to have one.”

Thanks to a little demon DNA she wasn’t going to die from the visions. They were a breeze now. She figured it was time to let the male population of Los Angeles know that Cordelia Chase was back.

Skeptically, Fred grumbled, “If you say so. You’re only fooling yourself.” Her mouth twisted into a frown. “Ever since you got back from the ballet both of ya’ll have been avoiding each other. Maybe talking about it wi—”

“No thanks, Dr Laura.” Cordelia started toward her target again. The memory of that night was etched into her brain.

Desire darkening his eyes when she asked him to undress her. Big hands caressing her. 

Peeling away her clothes. Lips on hers. On her skin. Lighting a fire within. The yearning they felt to be together.

Stupid. Horny. Ballerina.

Cordelia could totally sympathize with the horny part. That was what she was feeling right now and she had to admit it to herself. She was tired of being alone. Talking to Angel about it certainly wasn’t going to help with that little problem.

“Listen to what you’re saying. This is the guy who once interrogated my date when I made the mistake of having him stop by the office.”

Fred shrugged. “What’s so bad about a couple of questions? It just shows that he’s looking out for you. That he cares.”

Throwing back her head, Cordelia laughed loudly. “One of these days you’re going to realize Angel doesn’t belong on that pedestal you put him on. Yes, of course he cares about me—and all of us, but that doesn’t give him the right to scare the crap out of my dates.”

“Guess not.”

“Damn straight.” Grinning at her, Cordelia nodded toward the Hot Dog on a Stick line. “I know what I want and right now that’s him.”

Seeing there was no talking her out of it, Fred let out a big sigh, and volunteered to hold onto the shopping bags. “Go on. Go get his number.”

Cordelia moved up behind him. Anticipatory tingles left goosebumps on her skin. She breathed in the scent of his cologne. There was something about the way he stood. As if he owned the space around him. Self-confident. The kind of guy who knew exactly what he wanted.

A lustful little shiver rippled through her when he spoke. “Two corn dogs and a large lemonade.”

He might as well have been speaking to her. Saying that he wanted her. The sound of his voice turned her on. Made her squirm with need. “Say that again,” she purred, loud enough for half the line to hear. “I like a man who knows how to handle a stick.”

Hearing her request, the tall blond man turned around to face her, his eyes widening when he saw her. He was clearly puzzled by the attention. “You talking to me?”

“I’m Cordelia—Cordelia Chase.”

The stranger temporarily forgot his own name. “I’m…uh—”

“Your voice—it’s so sexy.” Cordelia stepped closer. The guy looked around for hidden cameras as if expecting it to be a prank. He took a step back until he butted up to the counter.

A crack sounded as his words turned into a squeak. “It is? I’m…uh—Tom.”

The grumbling customers in line were just background noise. Cordelia didn’t hear the words or notice anything beyond the man in front of her. She didn’t want to talk any more. Before Fred’s shriek could reach her ears, Cordelia leaned in, wound her arms around his neck and kissed him.

“Mmph!” For a couple of seconds Tom wasn’t sure what was happening, but then gave into it. After all, it wasn’t every day that a beautiful stranger threw herself at him—or ever.

Cordelia enjoyed the warmth of his body as she pressed closer, and the strength of his arms, but as their kiss deepened everything changed. Something was wrong. Every bit of passion she’d felt dried up like a prune. The kiss was all wrong. He was wrong. All wrong.

Pushing herself out of his arms, Cordelia wiped off her mouth with the back of her hand. “Bleh. Ick. Gross.”

“What? No, it was great.”

Not only did his kisses suck, but he was insane. “Excuse me while I go gargle with Clorox. C’mon, Fred.”

The guy tried to stop her from leaving. “Hey, wait!”

“Faster, Fred.”

They both squealed when Tom tried to follow them, but their practice at outrunning demons came in handy allowing them to escape. They were hiding behind a shoe display at Neiman Marcus when Fred gave the all clear signal. “I think we lost him. What’s going on Cordy?”

“Oh, look—these are your size,” Cordelia tried to distract her.

No such luck.

“Cordy, you just laid one on a complete stranger at the Food Court!”

“It just happened.” She made another try with the shoes, waving them in front of her. “Kissing him just seemed the easiest way. What’d you expect me to do, ask to see his investment portfolio?”

The fact that she practically molested the guy in broad daylight in the middle of the mall didn’t seem to bother her. “I suppose not. Um, maybe we should head home.”

“Fred, don’t be such a party pooper. There’s tons of shopping to do. We don’t get out very often.”

The mall had many distractions, and for a few blissfully peaceful minutes Cordelia’s only thoughts were focused on row after row of designer shoes. The kind that neither one of them could afford. Fred was more excited about the Sharper Image store with all of its gizmos. Unfortunately, it was also full of salesmen. They approached the ladies with eager smiles, one or two ready to flirt their way into making a sale.

Too old, too thin, shapeless, or nerdy types, Cordelia did not seem overly interested in any of them, which allowed Fred to test out a few of the interesting items without worrying about what her friend might do. This sudden need to come on to any cute guy in her vicinity seemed so out of character. Flirt? Sure…but this?

This store, with its collection of nerds, seemed safe for the moment.

“Oh, yeah! That feels soooooo good. Oooh! Keep going.”

Fred dropped the kaleidoscope she was looking at onto the nearest counter. “Cordy?” Dashing across the length of the store she found Cordelia stretched out and writhing pleasurably in a vibrating leather recliner.

The salesman stood by with a remote in his hand and his jaw hanging open at the sight before him. It was all too clear that the vibrations were doing more than just producing a therapeutic massage.

Grabbing the remote, she shut the chair down. “I am so sorry, sir. Medical condition. Chronic back pain.”

“Hey!” Cordelia complained as Fred tugged at her hand to get her to stand up. “That felt good. I wasn’t finished.”

“Maybe not, but since you’re not Meg Ryan and he’s not Billy Crystal, I don’t think ya’ll need to play out any scenes from ‘When Harry Met Sally.’”

“Only I wasn’t faking. That really felt soooo….”

“Uh huh! Got it. We all got it.”

Fred was looking just a little freaked out, which was the only reason that Cordelia did not insist on going back to that delicious chair. “So what was with the whole medical condition spiel? I really do get achy from the visions.”

“Used to,” Fred corrected her. “Now that you’re part demon all of the pain has gone away, hasn’t it?”

Cordelia admitted that she barely felt a twinge during the more routine visions. They tickled in comparison to the horrific pain she had felt before. Only the worst visions came close to making her feel anything on that level, but the effects passed quickly.

“True, but after a tough case—or my workouts with Angel—it might be nice to get in a good massage,” Cordelia said as if she was completely focused on the chair’s therapeutic value.

Considering the astronomical price of the awesome leather chair, Fred thought, “You could just ask Angel.”

That earned her an eye-roll and a quick, “Don’t be ridiculous.” Even though she knew that those hands could work magic on her flesh anywhere he touched, she did not want to think about Angel’s skilled fingers.

Heading toward the exit was a slow process. Cordelia kept getting distracted and not by the merchandise. “Oooh! Look at those.”

“Sneakers?” Fred glanced into the Footlocker store at the wall to wall athletic shoes, but her question came with a doubtful tone.

“Biceps,” purred Cordelia licking her lips at the sight. Decked out in black and white stripes, the athletic young man staring back at them stood with his arms crossed accentuating his muscular physique. “Imagine being wrapped up in those arms.”

Fred had a very good imagination, and was lost in it just a moment too long to stop her from walking straight up to yet another stranger. Flirty laughter followed. Hands boldly measuring the circumference of one of those bulging biceps. “You look like the strong, silent type. Kiss me,” she heard Cordelia demand what she wanted.

Maybe he followed the credo that the customer was always right because he did not bother to use all that strength to hold her off. Cringing, Fred waited for Cordelia to come up for air. The guy was a groper.

Feeling a little nauseated at the sight of her friend macking on another stranger, she turned away to look through a rack of women’s athletic gear. She had never been big on exercise, but the clothes were comfortable.

“Wait! Don’t you want my digits, babe?”

Not bothering to answer, Cordelia grabbed onto Fred’s elbow. “Let’s get out of here. He was so not the guy for me.”

“I could have told you that. What has gotten into you? Why’d you go and kiss him in the first place?”

“Hello! He was so big and bulgy in all the right places,” Cordelia whined.

Curious, Fred had to ask, “So what was wrong with him?”

Cordelia shrugged. “He tasted funny. Kinda gross. Like old sweat. Even if he did give good bulge.”

“Look, Cordy, I don’t want to spoil your fun, but I’m getting kinda worried. This isn’t like you.”

“Maybe you just don’t know the new me,” Cordelia laughed and twirled energetically until she careened straight into a manly chest. “Ooh! Thanks for the rescue. I was a little out of control.”

Loaded down with their packages, Fred muttered, “No kidding.”

Twirling to a stop, she leaned back against the railing that separated them from the overlook to the first floor twenty feet below. “All day today I’ve been feeling it. The need to touch and be touched, and—”

Fred was still getting to know Cordy. This seemed very random and extreme. “When you said you needed a man, I was thinking you wanted romance, too. Someone to love, who loves you, not just someone with a good stick shift.”

“Who says I can’t have both?”

“Kissing every guy in sight isn’t going to resolve whatever the heck this is.”

With a loud harrumph, Cordelia bluntly told her, “I’m horny, Fred. That’s what it is. Simple.”

Fred’s eyes widened into saucers. “Scientifically speaking— ‘simple’ is definitely not the right word for whatever demon puberty this is.”

Cordelia laughed loudly, the sound drawing the attention of passers by. “Relax, Fred. The Powers wouldn’t turn their seer into a raving nympho. Can’t a girl have needs?”

Teetering on the edge of an answer, Fred decided this wasn’t just girl talk. It wasn’t likely to be heard anyway, she decided worriedly, since Cordelia cornered someone near the entrance to the jewelry store. Wedging herself and the shopping bags between them before things could go too far, Fred shook her by the arm until Cordy’s gaze met hers. “Time to head home.”

“But—“

“No buts. No more store. No more guys. And definitely no more of this kissy stuff.”

Cordelia’s bottom lip poked out. “Fine. We’re done here. The car is that way.”

Grabbing her by the wrist, Fred took the shortest route to the closest exit. No way were they going past all of those men. The guys could pick up the car later. “Let’s take a taxi.” 

“Whatever.” Cordelia complied only because the mall didn’t seem to be working out for her. None of those men had been right for her. Now that they weren’t right in front of her, the needy feelings weren’t as intense, but definitely had not gone away. 

Just how desperate was she? “Maybe if I ask Phantom Dennis really nicely, he’ll—”

CHAPTER 3:   Containment

The taxi screeched to a stop outside the Hyperion. Somehow, Fred had won the argument about their destination even though Cordelia cooed at the cabbie about joining her at the Pearson Arms. Thank goodness the taxi had a divider between the driver and passenger areas or else things could have gotten dangerous. 

Fred practically hauled Cordelia out of the back seat when the driver — a balding, middle-aged guy with a dad bod and a faded Dodgers cap — leaned out the window to say, “I get off at nine.”

“She’ll be busy then,” Fred snapped. “Bye now.” 

Cordelia lingered waving him off, but her friend could wait no longer. This had to be dealt with now. Loaded down with half a dozen shopping bags, the handles cutting into her fingers as she wrestled them through the double doors, Fred frantically scanned the lobby finding only one of the team there.

Gunn had volunteered to handle ‘desk duty’ for the day since the girls ditched them for the mall. He stood at the reception desk flipping through the latest issue of SLAM Magazine. The articles on NBA stars, street ball, and urban athletes killed the time. Seeing Fred, he glanced at the wall clock. “Only three hours? That’s a record.”

His smile dipped at Fred’s frazzled features as she babbled her response. “Oh, Charles! Where is everybody? Tell me that Wesley came in.”

“Slow down, girl. English showed up an hour ago.”

 “Oh, gosh! Thank goodness. I have to talk to Wes and Angel. Where?”

“Usual.” It was all he needed to say. Wesley was in his office up to his eyeballs in a pile of books, and Angel was still holed up in his suite upstairs. 

Nodding, Fred plonked the entire pile of bags at his feet with a grateful huff, and immediately said, “Wes will do. Emergency at the mall.”

Gunn let her go with a confused nod, already bending to gather the bags. She was already out of earshot when he said, “Yeah, sure, I got these—”

“You certainly do.”

He’d almost forgotten about Cordelia as focused as he was on Fred’s arrival and strange need to talk to the Watcher right away. What emergency?

Straightening up, Gunn found Cordelia standing right in front of him as he hefted the shopping bags into a stable grip. “Whoa! You got some new ninja skills?”

Cordelia’s eyes lit up with that same hungry glint she’d had all day at the mall. “It’s your skills I’m interested in. So strong,” Cordelia purred, watching Gunn clutch the shopping bags closer. “Such capable hands. Makes me wonder what else those big hands are good for.”

Cordelia closed the distance in one smooth, almost predatory step — close enough that he could feel the heat rolling off her skin. “Show me,” she urged as the need flared within her.

Gunn’s face went from confused to panicked in half a heartbeat. “Princess—Cordy—come on, this ain’t right. Fred’s right in the other room—”

Lifting a finger to his lips, she promised, silencing him. “We’ll be quick.” Nothing else mattered.

He tried to step back, but the counter was right behind him. Cordelia followed like a shadow, stalking her prey, hands sliding up his chest, pressing close like the lobby was suddenly a private club. 

The shopping bags dropped at his feet with a soft thud as he made a move to escape hoping to create space between them. Big mistake. She took instant advantage by leaping over the scattered bags and spilled contents into his open and available arms. “What the—?”

Cordelia seemed to take his height and awkward position as a challenge, holding him tight, her hips rolling, grinding against him, practically doing a lap dance right there against the reception desk. The heat inside her flared hotter, a desperate, aching need that made her thighs clench and her breath come fast. This felt better than any of the mall strangers — stronger, safer, familiar — even if some small part of her brain whispered that it still wasn’t quite right. But right now, rightness didn’t matter; only the press of his body against hers did.

“Aw, man!” No part of him wanted this. Gunn’s hands hovered awkwardly — afraid to touch her, afraid not to — his breath coming short. Only certain that the ‘emergency at the mall’ had come home to the Hyperion. “Cordy, stop—,” he finally made the decision to pull her off of him, but she was surprisingly strong.

His fingers curled around her hips clutching firmly. “Pilates,” she cooed before nipping his earlobe.

“Fred! Angel!” he finally bellowed, voice cracking. “Little help here!”

The commotion brought Wesley and Fred shooting out of the office. They were gobsmacked, frozen for half a second at the sight of Cordelia wrapped around Gunn like she was trying to climb him. Angel was only seconds behind them having been pulled from his sleep. He came pounding down the stairs in a hastily donned pair of grey sweat pants, his chest and feet bare. 

“What the hell is going on?” Angel demanded, voice low and dangerous as he crossed the lobby in three strides.

Gunn’s misery was apparent even though Cordelia writhed instinctively in all the right places. “This isn’t—“ He was cut off when Cordy wrung her arms around his neck, those warm lips pressing into his, kissing him hard.

The rumblings around them were insensible to both in the moments that followed. Gunn did try to resist, his hands sliding up to her shoulders to pull her back, but she was really into it and he felt almost powerless to stop her. Cordelia pressed closer with a needy little sound that made Angel’s jaw clench so tight it hurt. He’d seen more than enough.

Angel stepped closer to break them apart, but Cordelia suddenly reared back shoving herself off of Gunn, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, eyes wide and confused.

“No—this isn’t right,” she muttered, frowning at Gunn who followed with a, “Damn straight!”

The heady rush fell flat and Cordelia found herself staring at her very confused, rumpled, and somewhat molested friend. “Did I just—?”

Fred answered for him. “Yeah, you kind of did.”

“That was all wrong.”

Gunn wasn’t certain that was an apology. “You’ve been freaky since yesterday. This is some demon thing.” For a second, his instincts as a demon fighter kicked in and he curled his lip. “What’s up?”

“Something isn’t right,” Cordelia muttered, still more to herself than the others. As soon as she walked into the Hyperion and saw him standing there talking to Fred, it was practically torture to stay away, to let them finish their short conversation. 

They all agreed. Something was definitely not right—with her. Cordelia didn’t see it as an issue. Blowing off their concerns. “It was just a little kiss,” she shrugged, “and I didn’t even like it.”

Gunn might have been offended if he hadn’t felt the same way. “Back at ya, Barbie.” It wasn’t just the way it happened, but a feeling, a sense of wrongness—the kiss had tasted off.

Having missed out on Fred’s rushed explanation earlier, Angel asked again, “What the hell is going on here?”

Cordelia crossed her arms, drawing herself up tight, feeling defensive. Angel had his hands on his hips drawing her gaze down the smooth plane of his torso to the waistband of his sweats cinched with a tiny little knot. She tilted her chin a notch higher. “Nothing you can help with.”

“We went to the mall. Shopping—except that Cordy got a little distracted,” Fred told him. “By every guy we’ve seen today.”

Angel instantly had suspicions. “Tell me.”

Trusting him, Cordelia felt that he was not being judge-y about it. Even though—Gunn. Wow! She had been making out with Charles Gunn. Her very not single friend whose girlfriend was somehow not threatening to beat her with a club right now.

Flushed and restless, Cordelia paced several steps away before turning back. She stopped in front of Angel, which might have been a mistake. The sudden calm she had felt after kissing Gunn and deciding their kiss had been a dud was over. It didn’t help that Angel was already barely dressed. He was definitely a hottie and her eyesight was 20/20. Still, this was Angel.

“I’m getting these urges. Needs—something.” 

They all knew what she was going to say next. It was the demon thing. They spouted off a few comments. Karma biting her ass. Ninja nympho tricks. Half-demon metabolism. Seeing this before. 

“Pretty sure it has something to do with getting laid.” She said it so bluntly the whole lobby went dead.

Wesley cleared his throat, ears flushing pink again from the sheer embarrassment of having just watched Cordelia grind against Gunn right in front of him. Now having had a few minutes to focus, Fred’s rushed summary of the Beverly Center exploits clicked into place. These sexual cravings had to be directly tied to whatever Skip had done to her. They would have to formulate a plan. “Cordelia, you must see that this kind of behavior is inappropriate. You simply cannot—“ he couldn’t even say it, substituting, “continue this way.” In that proper British way, he blustered. “Get hold of yourself.”  

“But it’s hard. I want so much.”

Her teeth tugged at her bottom lip, the little nip reminding her that she couldn’t have what she wanted even when it was right in front of her. Cordelia’s attention had already shifted. She was staring at Angel like she wanted to devour him. She stepped closer, eyes dark, leaning in to rub her cheek against his shoulder for one slow, needy second. Angel tensed and pulled back immediately, the contact sending a visible shudder through him.

“It’s a craving, Cordelia,” Angel said, voice low and rough with understanding. “Control it.” As if it was that easy—the things he struggled with day to day, but had been dealing with for over two hundred years.

Wes and Fred exchanged a look and immediately planned the necessary research. “We’ll hit the books,” Wesley said. “In the meantime, perhaps you should go to your room here at the hotel, Cordelia. Just until we figure this out.”

Angel watched her head upstairs, every step tight with restrained energy. When she was out of sight, he turned on Gunn, voice rough. “Answers. Now.”

Gunn ran a hand over his head, still breathing hard. “Man, I had no control over what she was doing. She was all over me. Getting her freak on. I tried to stop her, I swear.”

Fred stepped in quickly, defending him. “It wasn’t his fault. She was like this all day at the mall. This craving has to be the half-demon part of her.”

They decided that a new side effect had to be the root of it. Wesley said he’d research, but there wasn’t much to go on at this point. Skip’s gift had granted her an ‘aspect of demon’ in order to save her life—but which demon, and what other effects might there be?

CHAPTER 4: Walking on Eggshells

The lobby was quiet for all of three seconds after Cordelia’s door clicked shut upstairs. Then everyone started talking at once.

Fred waved her notebook like a white flag. “Okay, so… we keep her here. At the Hyperion. For the next few days at least. We can watch her, make sure she doesn’t… you know. Slip out and do something she’ll regret.”

Wesley nodded, already pushing his glasses up his nose. “Precisely. We have plenty of rooms. She stays put while we research. We take shifts. No leaving the building. No visitors. No opportunities for these urges to get the better of her. We simply don’t know how long this will last.”

Gunn rubbed the back of his neck, still flushed. “Yeah. Good plan. Because if she goes home…”

Fred finished for him, voice tight. “She was talking about asking Phantom Dennis for… help. In the taxi on the way back from the mall.”

Angel’s jaw clenched in annoyance that her resident poltergeist might provide some relief when he could not. “She stays. End of discussion.”

Upstairs, Cordelia had already kicked off her shoes and flopped across the bed, staring at the ceiling. The restless heat in her belly hadn’t faded; if anything it simmered hotter now that she was alone. She pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes. Get a grip, Chase. You are not some horny half-demon cliché. She wanted it to stop. Honest. The mall had been mortifying enough. The lobby had been worse. She didn’t want to keep throwing herself at people who weren’t… right.

A soft knock. She sat up. “Come in.”

Angel stood in the doorway with a tray—water, leftover Chinese takeout, a couple of the painkillers she used to need after visions. “Team voted. You stay here for the next few days. We’ll keep an eye on you. Help you stay under control until we figure this out.”

She managed a weak laugh. “Control. Right. I had plans with Phantom Dennis tonight, you know. He’s a great listener. And he doesn’t judge.” She rubbed her arms, but even her own touch made her skin feel too tight. “But… yeah. I’ll stay. I want this to stop too, Angel. I’m not some crazed nympho on the hunt. This is me in here. Mostly.”

He set the tray down, careful not to step too close. “We know. Eat something. Get some rest. We’ve got your back.”

The first day passed in a haze of careful distance.

Cordelia tried. She really did. She stuck to the lobby couch with a stack of magazines, legs tucked under her, fingers drumming restless patterns on her own thighs. When the pizza delivery guy wandered in through the double doors—twenty-something surfer type with sun-bleached hair and a bright grin—she was the only one in the lobby. Whoever had ordered had stepped away for a minute. He glanced around the place having never been there before. “Pizza for Angel Investigations?”

“Only if it comes with extra sausage,” she purred, rising from the couch in her tiny tank top and yoga pants, hair still damp from a cool shower. The words slipped out before she could stop them. Her hand brushed his arm as she reached for the box, lingering just a second too long.

The guy’s eyes widened. “Uh… yeah. That’s the one.”

Gunn appeared out of nowhere, body-blocking the space between them like a human shield. “Thanks, man. We got it from here.” He practically shoved the pizza box into Cordelia’s arms and steered the delivery guy back toward the doors.

Cordelia blinked, cheeks hot. “I was just being friendly.”

Gunn exhaled. “Friendly. Sure.”

Just then a sharp tingle flared behind Cordelia’s eyes — the familiar floaty warning of a vision. The room tilted for half a second and she started to lift, bare toes leaving the carpet. Angel was across the lobby in a blur, arms already out to catch her. She planted her feet firmly, steadied herself, and shot him an annoyed glare. “I’m fine,” she snapped. “I’ve got it. Stop hovering like I’m going to float off the balcony again.”

A traitorous part of Angel’s brain whispered that “fine” might be the most dangerous word in their vocabulary. Angel’s hands hovered a beat longer before he dropped them, jaw tight. “Habit.”

She rolled her eyes, the heat in her belly flaring hotter from the brief contact. “Yeah, well, break it.”

The second incident came during a client consult the next morning. A handsome mid-thirties lawyer whose wife was possessed by something with too many tentacles showed up at the Hyperion for a strategy session. Cordelia was supposed to be in the office filing. Instead she draped herself across the arm of his chair, fingers tracing the lapel of his expensive suit.

“Criminal,” she murmured, voice husky. “That suit is criminal. Maybe we should conduct a private investigation in the back office.”

The lawyer’s face flushed a deep red as he shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

Angel was across the room in two strides, physically steering the man toward the door while growling something about “billing later.” Cordelia watched them go, mortified and still buzzing. But the moment the lawyer was gone she drifted straight to Angel, crowding into his space, fingers brushing the bare skin of his arm where his sweater sleeve had ridden up. “You’re the only one who could really handle me right now, big guy,” she murmured, voice low and aching. She leaned in just enough that her breath ghosted his throat, then caught herself and stepped back, cheeks burning. No. Not him. Angelus. One kiss could end everything. She forced a shaky laugh. “Never mind. I’m fine.”

By afternoon the team had fallen into a rotation. Cordelia was the one who suggested a workout. “I need to burn some of this off or I’m going to climb the walls,” she told Gunn when he took over guard duty while Angel slept like the dead. He hesitated — he’d already been burned once — but they’d had a couple of days to adjust, and he figured she had better control now that they both knew what to watch for. He didn’t think twice about the close quarters or the fact that he was handing her a practice staff. They headed into the weapons room for what he hoped would be light sparring.

She pinned him to the mat twice, her new half-demon strength making the takedowns faster and harder than he expected. Each time she helped him up with an apologetic laugh, extra-tactile fingers brushing his arm a fraction longer than necessary, but there was no heat in it, no predatory gleam. She’d already tasted him in the lobby and ruled him out; the demon drive simply wasn’t interested anymore. Gunn still felt the awkward flush of close contact, but he was completely safe.

Afterward, Cordelia headed straight for the office with a plate of sandwiches she’d thrown together in the kitchenette. “Figured you two could use some fortification while you’re buried in those books,” she said, setting the plate down between Wesley and Fred. “Any new leads? Anything at all?”

She leaned over Wesley’s shoulder to see what he was studying, one hand casually propped on his shoulder. The page was full of garbled ancient languages she couldn’t read, but the illustration was impossible to miss — a nude female demon straddling a human man in a way that left nothing to the imagination.

Wesley cleared his throat, trying to keep his voice steady. “Several older sources point to succubus-adjacent traits. The demon aspect triggers a powerful bonding ritual. The subject secretes pheromones that draw suitable partners close for… compatibility testing. Potency. Strength. Whatever trait the demon side deems essential. It could last days, possibly weeks, depending on the specific lineage. We’re still cross-referencing to narrow it down.”

Her fingers tightened slightly on his shoulder, then began a slow, absentminded stroke along the fabric of his shirt sleeve. “Mmm. That accent of yours is still the sexiest thing in this hotel, Wes. My favorite Rogue Demon Hunter.”

Wesley felt the flush race down his neck. He knew — or at least suspected — why the contact was affecting him so strongly, but for some reason he was finding it difficult to pull away.

Fred looked up from her notes, eyes narrowing. She slammed the book shut with a decisive thump. “Wesley. Cordelia. That is quite enough. We are trying to help her, not become part of the problem.”

Cordelia leaned in closer, lips parting.

Angel strode into the doorway at that exact moment, fingers curling into tight fists at the sight, one step away from hauling her bodily away from Wesley.

She suddenly reared back, her features warping into a clear ‘eww’ of distaste. “We’ve done this before—we kissed.”

“Yes,” Wesley said, the unwelcome urge diminishing almost instantly. That kiss was still sharp in his mind—a bloody awful snog if ever there was one.

He was relieved… but curious too. This was the second time Cordelia had hinted that her intended lovers tasted off. He flipped a few more pages, scanning the text. “Fascinating. Given what you just said about the taste… it appears the ritual is highly selective. Only the right one would… pass.”

Angel caught most of the exchange— Cordelia’s hand sliding off Wesley’s shoulder, the flush on the ex-Watcher’s face, the word “tasted” hanging in the air. A sharp stab of jealousy twisted in his gut. When the hell did Cordelia kiss Wesley?

That evening Lorne tried to lighten the mood with karaoke in the lobby. Cordelia chose “I’ve Got You Under My Skin.” Halfway through the duet she was sitting in his lap, green skin suddenly the sexiest thing she’d ever seen. Not to mention that prehensile tail. “Wanna show me what you can do with it?”

Lorne nearly choked on his Sea Breeze cocktail. “Cupcake, I adore you, but I am not the green light you’re looking for right now.”

Through it all Cordelia kept gravitating back to Angel. She brushed past him in the hallway, fingers trailing down his bare arm. She leaned into his side while he poured coffee, breath warm against his ear. “You’re the only one who could really handle me right now, big guy,” she murmured again and again, each time pulling back at the last second, eyes dark with want and fear. “One little kiss and you’re off my list. How dangerous could one kiss be?” She ached to taste him, to take him, but somehow he continued to resist her very obvious charms.

By the end of the third day the full moon had come and gone. Cordelia was still in heat. The incidents had multiplied. Wesley had sent for more texts from the occult bookstore and was muttering about succubus-adjacent bonding rituals that could last “days… possibly weeks.” They gathered in the conference room after dinner. Cordelia had been sent upstairs again “to cool off,” but everyone could hear her pacing overhead.

Wesley cleared his throat. “It’s clear this isn’t going away quickly. Gunn, Lorne and I have all been ruled out as candidates after the most recent incidents. That leaves only Angel technically at risk here at the Hyperion. And if things went wrong with him…” He didn’t finish the thought; they all knew the worst-case scenario could be catastrophic for everyone.

“We can’t send her back to her Silver Lake apartment,” Fred added. “That would keep her away from Angel, but it puts the general public at risk. We need her isolated here.”

Angel’s voice was low but steady. “I’m definitely not immune. But I can handle it. Having her in the same space… I’ve dealt with worse cravings for over two hundred years. I’ll manage.”

Gunn rubbed his face. “Even though I’m not a candidate anymore, I’m still feeling it. Even when she’s not full-on temptress. It’s there in the background. For her sake, I’m in. Full lockdown.”

Fred nodded, already scribbling. “We just need to keep her here until Wes and I can come up with something. I already have an idea for a counter-serum dispersion device to neutralize or block the pheromones. It might take a day or two, but it’s a start.”

Wesley cleared his throat. “All in favor of immediate full quarantine?”

Four hands went up. The vote was unanimous.

Upstairs, Cordelia pressed her forehead to the cool window glass. She wanted it to stop. But the heat kept building, and the only person who felt right was the one she couldn’t have.

The old hotel creaked around her. She closed her eyes and wondered how long she could hold out before she levitated right out of this room and went looking for the one man who might actually understand

CHAPTER 5: Elevator Trap

The Hyperion settled into an uneasy silence after the vote. Doors locked from the outside. Shifts assigned. No one was pretending this was temporary anymore.

Cordelia had been confined to her room for hours now, the old hotel key turning with a final, decisive click that still echoed in her ears. Boredom gnawed at her worse than the heat. She lay sprawled across the bed in nothing but an oversized T-shirt, skin slick, thighs pressed together against the restless ache that refused to ease. The craving wasn’t just for sex anymore — it was for closeness, for arms that felt safe and right and hers.

All those men. The mall strangers. The pizza delivery guy. Even Gunn. Every single one had tasted wrong — flat, like day-old coffee left too long on the burner. Whatever she wanted, it wasn’t them.

She rolled onto her side, staring at the ceiling, and let her mind wander through the qualities she kept chasing. Strong but gentle. Quiet confidence that didn’t need to shout. A voice that could drop low and make her stomach flip. Someone who looked at her like she was more than just the vision girl or the pretty face — someone who had seen her at her worst and still stuck around. Someone who made her feel seen.

The list hit her like a slap. She was describing Angel.

Frustration flared hot in her chest, followed by a sharp spike of anger. He was still off limits. Every survival instinct screamed it — he was a vampire, and not just any vampire. One wrong move and Angelus could rip through them all. She knew the stories. She’d lived the nightmares. But he was everything she wanted anyway.

All day yesterday, in between the desperate flirtations with those other guys, she had kept drifting back to him. Brushing past him in the hallway, fingers trailing down his bare arm. Leaning into his side while he poured coffee, her breath warm against his ear. The way both of them had held their cravings in check, eyes locking for one charged second before they looked away. She was already tired of being locked up. She wanted to see him. To discover once and for all whether Angel’s kiss would taste as good as she imagined.

That was the moment she decided to escape.

She sat up. The room was too small. The air too thick. With a slow, deliberate breath she focused—just like she had when she’d first floated out of the coma bed—and felt herself lift a few inches off the mattress. It took effort, not instinct. “Lockdown, my ass,” she muttered, and drifted out the open window like smoke, bare feet brushing the cool night air, T-shirt riding up her thighs. She floated along the exterior ledge, heart hammering, until she spotted an open window two rooms down. Slipping inside, she touched down on the corridor floor. The floaty feeling faded instantly; the power slipped away again, leaving her grounded and breathless. The corridors stretched ahead like a playground built for chasing. And she knew exactly who she was hunting.

Angel was in the lobby, pretending to read the same page of a demonology text for the fourth time. A muscle ticked in his cheek, the memory of her earlier hallway passes still burning under his skin—her fingers trailing down his arm, her breath against his ear, the constant, aching promise of one little kiss. He could still smell her on the air, warmer and sharper now, threading through the stale hotel dust like a live wire. We have no idea how long this lasts, Wesley had said. Angel was starting to think “forever” was a real possibility.

Soft footsteps on the stairs. He looked up and froze. Cordelia was descending in nothing but an oversized T-shirt that barely skimmed the tops of her thighs, hair loose and wild, bare feet nearly silent on the carpet. She had escaped her room. She was in full stalker mode, eyes locked on him like he was the only thing in the hotel that mattered. Prey.

Angel didn’t budge from the deep, cushy lobby chair he’d claimed. Mentally prepared, he was ready. He simply set the book down and leveled her with a calm, warning look.

“Do you want to be cuffed to the bed?”

Her laugh went low and husky, sliding over his skin like warm honey. “Depends,” she purred, not taking it as a threat at all.

She started circling his chair, slow and deliberate, manicured nails lightly scraping the bare skin at the back of his neck as she passed behind him. “Don’t you want me?” she whispered against his ear on the next pass, breath hot, body close enough that the neckline of her T-shirt gaped intriguingly to reveal the soft shadow between her breasts. She circled again, nails lightly scraping down his arm, then nudging his thigh with her bare leg as she leaned in.

Every touch sent another spike of heat through him. He could see exactly what would follow if he let her keep going—her mouth on his, her body pressed flush, the two of them losing every ounce of control they still had.

She plopped down on the wide arm of the chair right beside him, leaning so close she was practically in his lap. “C’mon, Angel. Just one little kiss.”

He knew he should not. But his self-control wasn’t as iron-clad as he’d told himself. One kiss and he’d be off her list, just like Wesley and Gunn. No more stalking, no more flirting. The problem was, a traitorous part of him knew he was kidding himself. Besides… he kind of liked the stalking and flirting. He burned to touch those lips, to claim her mouth beneath his, taking more than just a taste.

She leaned in. Their mouths almost brushed.

Then Cordelia pulled away first, eyes sparkling with mischief. Some creatures only gave chase when you ran from them. Do that to a vampire and you were definitely his prey. Maybe she had a game of kiss-chase in mind, but Angel just reacted—and he was going to catch her.

He closed the distance in a rush, but not to grab her. He needed her back upstairs, safely locked in her room, and the only way to do it without risking full-body contact was to herd her toward the old 1928 service elevator tucked behind the lobby staircase — the same creaky metal cage that had been hauling guests up and down the Art Deco hotel since it first opened its doors. “Upstairs, Cordy. Now,” he growled, voice low and controlled, guiding her with his presence alone as he backed her step by step toward the open doors. She retreated playfully, crooking a finger, until they were both inside the car.

The doors closed.

Angel jabbed the elevator button with a little more strength than necessary. A sudden pop and flicker of the overhead lights made the elevator lurch, then groan to a dead stop between floors. The button looked intact. “Was that me?” He pressed it again, gently this time. No response.

From the opposite corner of the elevator, Cordelia laughed, “Nice trick. Now we’re all alone. I think you’ve got me.”

From somewhere down the hall came the faint sound of Fred cursing in the office—powering up her new anti-pheromone dispersion device had just shorted the old building’s wiring again. Angel’s vampire hearing picked it up.

Explaining, “Fred’s experiment. Shorted the circuits.”

The lights flickered again, then settled on dim emergency red. Their game was over, Cordelia realized with a little pout. “Guess we’re stuck here.”

Angel’s mouth formed a stiff line. He sensed where this was going. He could feel it. Here in this enclosed space the air seemed infused by her scent, wild and intoxicating. Letting himself get caught up in Cordelia’s newest flirtation was a bad idea. He did want her. Not that he could ever say it. Or do anything about it.

The solid ceiling overhead showed its age: a small square maintenance hatch bolted in place, the only way out if the car ever needed emergency escape. Angel’s gaze flicked that way, but he said nothing that might give Cordelia a chance to may a real escape by floating out of there.

She looked at the stuck doors, then at Angel, and the heat in her eyes flared hotter.

“Well,” she said, voice breathless. “How long do you think this is going to last?”

“Fred’s working on it.”

“Me, you dork. This.”

Angel’s back hit the wall. He could feel the pull of her pheromones like a physical thing now, wrapping around his chest, tightening low in his gut. He could have pried the heavy inner doors open in seconds — vampire strength made short work of 1928 steel — but he didn’t move. “Cordy… we have no idea how long any of this lasts. The ritual, the heat, none of it. Wesley said days. Weeks. We can’t—”

She stepped into him, hands sliding up his chest, nails lightly scraping. “One kiss. Just to see if I’m right about you.”

He caught her wrists before her mouth could reach his. The contact sent a jolt through both of them. For a second he almost let her. Almost.

Instead he spun her, gentle but firm, pressing her back to his chest, arms banded around her.

“Not happening.” His voice was rough. “Not like this.”

Cordelia shivered, the fight draining into something needier. “Then tie me up, big guy. Before I do something we’ll both regret.” She nodded toward the emergency panel. Angel didn’t hesitate. He unthreaded his belt in one smooth motion, turned her to face him again, and looped the supple leather around her wrists with careful, deliberate knots. Not too tight. Just enough to keep her from floating away or lunging. Enough to remind them both where the line was.

She tested the bonds, eyes glittering. “Kinky. I like it.”

He stepped back as far as the small car allowed, chest heaving. The belt kept her anchored, but the scent of her still filled the air, warm and inviting and right. His jaw clenched. “We wait. Fred will notice the elevator’s out. They’ll get us out.”

Cordelia leaned against the wall, wrists bound in front of her, T-shirt riding up her thighs. She looked at him through half-lidded eyes, the heat still rolling off her in waves. “And until then?”

Angel swallowed hard. “Until then… we talk. About how long this could last. About what happens if you don’t find the right one soon.” His gaze flicked to her bound hands, then away. “And we don’t cross that line. No matter how much we both want to.”

“So you do want to kiss me,” Cordelia jumped on the comment like it was a confession. 

Angel’s stare was dark, dangerous, and more than a little lustful.

CHAPTER 6: Red Light Confessions

The elevator lights hummed. Somewhere above them, footsteps echoed—Fred calling out, worried. But down here, in the red-tinged dark, time stretched like taffy. Cordelia smiled, slow and dangerous and a little bit scared.

“Fine,” she said softly. “We talk. But I’m still betting on you, Angel. One of these days you’re going to let me test that theory.”

He didn’t answer. He couldn’t. Because part of him—the part that had been aching for her since the day she chose them over heaven—was already wondering how long he could keep saying no.

Cordelia tested the belt around her wrists again, the supple leather cool against her skin. It wasn’t tight enough to hurt, but it was firm enough to remind her she was supposed to be the one in control right now. She wasn’t. The heat in her veins had settled into a low, insistent thrum that made every breath feel too loud in the small car. She could smell him—cool night air, faint leather, something darker that was purely Angel—and it made her thighs press together under the oversized T-shirt.

“So you do want to kiss me,” she said, voice still husky from the chase. “I heard you, big guy. ‘No matter how much we both want to.’ That’s practically a love letter coming from you.”

Angel’s stare was dark, dangerous, and more than a little lustful. He leaned against the opposite wall like it was the only thing keeping him upright, arms crossed tight over his chest. “Cordy. Don’t.”

She laughed, low and soft. “Too late. You said it out loud. Now I know I’m not the only one feeling this.” She shifted, the belt creaking faintly, and tilted her head. “Wesley’s books say it’s a bonding ritual. Not just sex. Not just heat. Something that picks the right one. And every guy I’ve tried so far tasted… wrong. Like day-old coffee and regret.”

The air in the car was growing thicker, saturated with her pheromones. Angel could feel them pressing against his skin like a living thing, making it harder and harder to remember why he was supposed to stay across from her. One simple kiss. That was all it would take to get him off her list. No more stalking, no more flirting, no more of this slow torture. Bonding? What the hell did that even mean? The consequences of kissing Cordy were stacking up higher. Worse, what if he was just another test that failed?

He swallowed hard, the muscle in his cheek jumping again. “We still have no idea how long any of this lasts. Wesley said days. Weeks. Maybe longer. You could wake up tomorrow and the heat could be gone. Or it could drag on for months. We can’t risk—”

“Risk what?” She leaned forward as far as the belt allowed, the neckline of her T-shirt gaping again. “Think you know how to handle cravings, Angel? Prove it.”

Angel’s gaze dropped to her mouth for half a second before he yanked it back up. The air in the car felt thicker, charged with the intoxicating scent rolling off her in waves. “You think one kiss would fix it? You think I’d be off your list and everything would go back to normal?” His voice dropped, rough. “I’m not like the others, Cordy. One kiss and my soul could be on the line. Angelus isn’t a theoretical risk for me. He’s a memory I live with every single day.”

Cordelia’s voice softened, but her certainty didn’t waver. Every instinct screamed that she had to take this chance. If Los Angeles was full of other fish in the sea, Angel would be the shark circling to take them out. Those other men didn’t matter. She wanted Angel. Right now, in that tiny red-lit box, every cell in her body insisted he was hers.

He closed his eyes for a long second, breathing through the pull that made his hands itch to reach for her. “And if you’re wrong? If the ritual decides I’m just another test that fails?”

“Then I guess we stay trapped in this elevator forever,” she said with a crooked grin that didn’t quite hide the vulnerability underneath. “At least the company’s good. And the view…” Her gaze slid deliberately down his body and back up. “The view’s not bad either.”

A faint metallic groan sounded from above—Fred’s voice, muffled, shouting something about “re-routing the breaker” and “give me five more minutes.” The emergency lights flickered once, but the car stayed stubbornly still.

Angel let out a short, humorless laugh. “Five more minutes. Every second of this is madness.”

Cordelia’s smile turned wicked again. “Plenty of time for one little kiss, then. Your lips on mine. Just go for it.” She shifted closer on her knees, the belt pulling taut between them. “Come on, Angel. You’ve already tied me up. What’s the worst that could happen?”

His stare darkened further, lust and fear and something deeper warring across his face. He took one step forward before he caught himself, hands fisting at his sides. “The worst is I lose you to Angelus. The worst is I lose me. And I’m not risking that. Not even for you.”

The words hung between them, heavy and honest. Cordelia’s breath caught. For a moment the teasing mask slipped completely and she just looked at him—raw, wanting, a little scared herself.

“Fine,” she whispered. “No kiss. But you can’t stop me from talking. And right now, all I want to talk about is how much I want you to touch me. How much I want you to stop pretending you don’t feel it too.”

Above them, the footsteps grew louder. Fred’s voice came clearer now, accompanied by the faint clank of tools. “Almost there! Just one more wire and—”

The elevator lights flickered again, stronger this time. The car gave a small, hopeful lurch.

Cordelia glanced up at the ceiling, then back at Angel, eyes gleaming with challenge and something softer underneath. “Saved by the bell. Or the nerd. But this isn’t over, big guy. Not by a long shot.”

Angel didn’t move. He just stared at her—bound, flushed, still wearing nothing but his T-shirt and that damn smile—and wondered how the hell he was supposed to survive the rest of the night.

CHAPTER 7: Open Doors

The elevator gave another hopeful lurch. Fred’s voice came clearer through the doors from downstairs, muffled but triumphant. “Got it! One more second!”

Upstairs, Gunn jolted awake in the guest room next to Cordelia’s, a half-eaten bag of snacks and a stack of car magazines scattered across the small table beside him. He’d drawn the short straw for overnight guard duty and had set up camp in the guest room right next to hers. He was used to pulling all-nighters as a demon hunter, but the past few days of Cordelia’s relentless antics had finally taken their toll — he’d crashed hard and never heard a thing. 

The sudden darkness and Fred’s panicky voice from downstairs snapped him awake. “Fred? What the hell’s going on down there?!” His shout woke Wesley in the neighboring room.

Both men came hurrying down the grand staircase, flashlight beams cutting through the darkened hotel. Wesley’s robe flapped open over his plaid pajamas as they descended, slippers slapping against the marble steps. They found Fred hot-wiring the elevator. “Angel’s stuck in there,” she said.

Fred kept talking rapidly as the men reached the lobby. “I was up since midnight trying to calibrate the anti-pheromone neutralizer in the office — I thought I was one wire away from stabilizing the suppression field — but there was a feedback loop in the old wiring and it caused a power surge and shorted the entire hotel system and—”

The doors groaned open a few inches, then wider.

The team stared.

The sight hit them like a gut-punch: Cordelia still on her knees in the center of the elevator car, wrists bound in front of her with Angel’s leather belt, wearing nothing but his oversized T-shirt that skimmed the tops of her thighs and left far too much smooth, tempting skin on display. She looked utterly seductive, lips parted, eyes bright with lingering heat and mischief. Angel loomed behind her, one arm banded possessively around her from behind, his body coiled and intense, every muscle tight as he hovered on the edge of something dangerous.

Fred blinked. “Oh. Oh my.”

Gunn’s eyes widened, axe lowering but not all the way, realizing that Angel wasn’t alone. “You got out of your room? I was right next door the whole damn night.” His gaze flicked to Angel, sharp and wary, and back again. “We’re supposed to be keeping you on lockdown, but you’re playing elevator bondage games with the vampire.” 

Outrage over letting her escape confinement forced Gunn to consider worst-case-scenarios. Asking Angel, “You still you, man?”

Angel met the stare, hard and unblinking. “Think I would tell you?”

Gunn held the look a beat longer, then exhaled, shoulders easing a fraction. After all, how much could’ve happened in there? “You gonna take that belt off her or do we need to get the Jaws of Life?”

“Relax, Charles,” Cordelia drawled, voice still husky from the long, heated conversation. “It was my idea. Better tied up than having to chase him around the elevator. Even if I’d like to shimmy up that flagpole.”

Wesley made a small, strangled British noise and looked anywhere but at the direction of her hand, or the shadow between her breasts. “Perhaps we could discuss this upstairs. With clothes. And… dignity.”

Releasing her, Angel finally spoke, voice low and rough. “She got out of her room. Had to keep her contained until the doors opened. It was necessary.”

Cordelia immediately curled into his side, the softer curves of her breast pressing against his arm, her hip nudging close to the burgeoning arousal straining against the leg of his pants. She tilted her head back against his chest, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Necessary. Sure. Tell them how you almost kissed me first, big guy. Or how you said we both want to.”

He snagged her wrist just as her hand moved downward. “Don’t.”

Gunn coughed. He completely understood Angel’s state having been there himself. “Man, I did not need that visual.”

Angel guided her out of the stuck elevator, the team parting instinctively as the pheromone-heavy air rolled over them like a wave. Cordelia continued to stay close, leaning into him just enough to make his jaw clench tighter, her bare thigh brushing his leg with every step. Up the grand staircase they went, the old Hyperion creaking around them like it was holding its breath.

They all followed as if they needed further assurance that Cordelia was back under lockdown.

At her door Wesley cleared his throat, ears still pink. “Fred, how close are we with that counter-serum?”

“Not close enough,” Fred said with a frustrated huff, already turning back toward her makeshift lab with her multimeter and wires. “We’ll have to test it out tomorrow, but I think it needs a day or two. Potency is important to counteract Cordy’s natural pheromones. The dispersal system is my immediate problem.”

Gunn shook his head, axe resting on his shoulder. “Can’t we just spritz her with it?”

“Like perfume?” Fred and Wesley shared a laugh. It wasn’t quite that simple, they explained.

Angel held a hand out to Gunn. “The key.” 

The door was still locked. “How’d you get out, Princess?” Gunn asked quizzically as he reached into his pocket and pulled out the room key, handing it off to Angel.

Cordelia’s eyes sparkled as she pondered not telling him, but it was far too much fun. “That floaty thing of mine—it’s definitely a plus.”

“This lockdown is getting weirder by the hour.” Gunn gave her credit for ingenuity, but he had to prevent further escapes—at least on his watch. “Keep an eye on her for a few. Gotta head to the basement. Think I saw some heavy plywood down there.”

“You can’t board up my window!” Cordelia complained. “That room is already like a prison.”

The anguish in her voice cut into him, but Angel knew they had no choice. She was a danger to  herself and any man she might meet if she managed to escape again—including him. So far it had all been about kissing, overt flirtations, an instinctual need for closeness, for sex. None of them knew how far this need for ‘bonding’ would take her. Research on succubi described a dark end for their very temporary partners. Even though her demonic aspects were just part of her, they had come out to play in a way she could not control.

“We won’t leave you completely alone,” he promised. “Fred is too busy. Lorne seems to be off your radar. Gunn will need to catch some shut-eye. Wes can finish up his research in here.”

Cordelia’s gaze flicked over to the others. “Meaning they’re safe from my wicked wiles?”

They all answered in unison, “Yes.”

The high she had been on in the elevator, so close to Angel, had come down to a manageable level, but Cordelia felt it stirring again. Time with her friends—fine. Not what she needed. “What about you?”

His hand cupped her cheek before Angel could stop himself. Her skin was hot against his, silky soft as his thumb circled there. If he needed a reminder about why he couldn’t go in that room, he just got one. “I’ll take my turn out here in the hall.”

“Fine.”

The door clicked shut behind Cordelia with finality, the lock turning with a decisive snick. Angel stood in the hallway a moment longer, one hand still pressed to the wood, the scent of her clinging to his skin like a promise he wasn’t sure he could keep refusing.

CHAPTER 8: Recalibration

Gunn sat across from Cordelia at the small table in her room, the Scrabble board between them and the walkie-talkie sitting on the table next to the score sheet. He’d volunteered for companion duty this shift — after the serum tests and the way her cravings had zeroed in on Angel, the team figured he could hang out with her without things getting weird. Cordelia was still extra flirty, craving every scrap of attention, but she kept it playful instead of predatory.

“T-E-M-P-T,” she announced, laying down her tiles with a wicked little smile. “Triple word score. And it’s exactly what I’m feeling right now, Charles. You sure you don’t want to tell me how pretty I look in this tank top? A girl needs compliments to survive lockdown.” She leaned forward just enough to make her point, eyes sparkling with mischief, but she stayed on her side of the table.

Gunn chuckled, shaking his head as he rearranged his own tiles. “You’re shameless, Chase. My turn. And no, I’m not feeding that ego — you’ve already got half the hotel wrapped around your finger.”

Downstairs in the lobby, Wesley flipped another page in one of his ancient tomes, his voice tight with concern. “The medieval grimoires are quite clear. Succubi don’t simply seduce—they engage in a selective bonding ritual. The pheromones test compatibility. Most partners… fail. The successful bond drains the victim’s vital essence. Soul included.” He glanced at Angel, who stood statue-still by the counter. “Lilith legends in the Kabbalistic texts are darker still. The link becomes permanent. The partner doesn’t walk away whole.”

Angel’s jaw flexed. “My soul stays where it is. Period.”

Fred carefully adjusted the serum dispersal setting on the device. “The neutralizer is calibrated for suppression, but… my chemical titrations could be off. Her pheromones are insanely potent—way stronger than I predicted. The only way to know if it works is to try it, and these guys are no longer candidates, Cordelia’s not going to turn on the charm like she does with—”

“Me,” Angel finished, his eyes flicking toward the staircase. “Do it.”

Ten minutes later Fred burst into Cordelia’s room first, dispersal device raised like a fire extinguisher. Gunn glanced up from the Scrabble board and gave her a quick nod. She fired off three quick puffs of mist that filled the air with a faint, sharp medicinal scent. “Testing on the vampire,” Cordelia drawled to Fred with a smirk. “Bold choice. If this backfires and I jump him, you’re all paying for my therapy.”

Fred squeaked, “Good luck,” and backed out fast. Gunn stood up right behind her, stretching casually. “I’ll leave you two to it. Walkie-talkie’s right there if you need us.” He stepped into the hall just as Angel reached the doorway; the two men gave each other a brief, loaded look before Gunn headed downstairs.

Cordelia sat cross-legged on the bed in a tank top and shorts, watching Angel with that hungry, amused glint that made his fangs ache.

Fred’s voice crackled over the walkie-talkie on the table. “Mist should start neutralizing in sixty seconds. Tell me if the… urge lessens.”

It didn’t.

Angel closed the door behind him and leaned against it, arms crossed like that could keep the room from shrinking. The faint medicinal scent of the serum mixed with Cordelia’s natural warmth, and already the air felt heavier, charged. “Cordy. This is just a test. Sit tight, let the serum do its job, and we’ll know in a few minutes. No need to make this harder than it has to be.”

She tilted her head, lips curving in that familiar, dangerous smile that always hit him like a stake to the chest. “Sit tight? Angel, I’ve been sitting tight for days while the team played jailer. I want you. Not the others. Not the random guys who tasted like cardboard and left me empty. You. Because you’re the one who makes my stupid demon brain light up like Christmas. You’re broody and impossible and you still look at me like I’m the only thing in the room worth seeing — even when you’re pretending you don’t want this as badly as I do.” She unfolded her legs and slid off the bed, bare feet silent on the carpet. “Tell me you don’t feel it too. Tell me the thought of touching me doesn’t make that chest of yours tighten with something you can’t name.”

He swallowed hard, the familiar phantom lurch in his chest already proving her right. “I feel it. That’s the problem. The texts say this could drain me dry. My soul—”

“I’m not going to be the thing that costs you your soul, Angel,” she cut in softly, stepping closer until only inches separated them. “This feels right.”

That rightness mirrored his own feelings.

Her fingers brushed the hem of her tank top, tugging it up an inch so a sliver of smooth, warm skin showed at her waist. “Then stop fighting it for five seconds. Touch me. Just once. I need to know what your hands feel like when they’re not trying to save me from myself.”

Angel’s hand lifted almost against his will, fingertips grazing the warm strip of skin above her shorts. The contact sent a spark through both of them — her breath catching sharply, a deep warmth blooming in his chest that felt startlingly alive. She was soft, alive, and so damn Cordelia it hurt. “You’re killing me,” he muttered, voice rough with restraint and something far deeper.

“Good,” she whispered, stepping closer until her breasts brushed his chest. Her hand slid up his arm, nails lightly scraping, then cupped the back of his neck. “I want you here with me, Angel. I want you feeling this with me. Not because of the heat. Because it’s you. Because you’ve been my champion, my pain-in-the-ass, my everything for so long I can’t remember what it felt like before.” Her thumb stroked the edge of his jaw, tender and tempting all at once. “Kiss me. Everyone’s listening, I know. Let them. One kiss. Please.”

Downstairs the walkie-talkie was silent for a beat. Then Wesley’s prim voice cut in: “Angel, the texts are very clear on the risks — you must maintain control.”

Cordelia’s eyes sparkled with pure mischief and something deeper — the raw, aching need that had nothing to do with demons and everything to do with the man who had stood beside her through hell and worse. She waited, lips parted, breath warm against his mouth, every inch of her a living temptation that made his resolve crumble.

Angel’s hands flexed at his sides. He could wait it out. He should wait it out. But Cordelia was Cordelia — snarky, bossy, and the only woman who had ever made his chest tighten with a warmth that felt startlingly alive. He leaned in and covered her lips with his.

The kiss sank deep, slow and gloriously perfect, and it was only just getting started.

CHAPTER 9: Anchor

Cordelia pulled back just enough to drag in a shaky breath, eyes hazy and shining. Before she could speak, Angel’s voice came low and rough, a rare hint of playfulness beneath the hunger. “So… did I pass the test?”

She let out a breathless laugh because he knew the same thing she did. That kiss tasted of something pure, crave-able, uniquely them. Not a hint of bitter regret. “You passed,” she said, voice full of relief and delight, and then triumph. “I knew it. I was right all along.”

The walkie-talkie crackled again almost immediately. “Angel? Cordelia? The readouts are spiking — we may need to recalibrate the next batch higher—” Fred’s voice, flustered but professional, clearly trying to focus on the science.

Gunn’s deeper tone cut across it, still not entirely convinced this was the right strategy. “Man, I’m not sure this is a great idea. Maybe we should’ve called that pizza delivery guy.” He had been given the full run-down on Angelus and did not want him to emerge from that room tonight.

“Something worked,” Fred reassured him. “Angel is compatible. She liked the kiss.”

Upstairs, another kiss followed the first deepening into something hungry and inevitable. Cordelia’s fingers tightened in Angel’s hair, pulling him closer as her tongue swept against his, a soft needy sound escaping her throat. She tasted like heat and home and everything she’d been holding back for years. The serum haze rolled through the room, but it no longer felt like a dangerous pull — it felt like coming home.

Wesley, already flipping pages in the rare hybrid text he’d pulled acquired from his antiquities dealer, muttered, “One moment. There’s a passage here about half-human succubi. The bond can stabilize rather than drain if the human soul is strong enough… the hybrid’s own soul acts as an anchor to create a permanent bond between them…”

Those words and Fred’s gleeful “Whoop!” crackled through the walkie seeping in from the periphery as they focused on their immediate need to be in each other’s arms. Until it was simply not enough.

Cordelia broke the kiss just long enough to breathe against his mouth, voice husky with years of unspoken want. “I need you. All of you. Not the champion, not the vampire — you. The man who makes me feel safe even when everything’s falling apart. The one who sees me, really sees me, when no one else does. I’ve wanted this for so long, Angel. Wanted to feel your hands on me like this, wanted to know what it’s like to have you lose control because of me.”

Angel groaned, the sound low and helpless. His hands slid under her tank top, palms warm against her bare back, thumbs stroking the curve of her spine in slow, reverent circles. Every touch sent that shared hum deeper into his chest — a warm, golden tether they both felt blooming between them, wrapping around the once-dark fear and turning it perfectly right.

“Cordy… the team—”

“Still listening,” Gunn’s voice came through the walkie, half-laughing, half-groaning. “And I’m starting to think we really don’t want to be.”

Still translating on the fly, Wes began to feel confident they would not need the weapons cache they had prepared just in case Angelus made an appearance. “This passage says the anchor forms through mutual… um… completion. It should protect the soul instead of draining it!”

Fred’s scientific curiosity kicked in again, “Ooh! The pheromones…” she wafted on.

The words barely registered as Cordelia tugged Angel’s shirt up and over his head, her hands exploring the cool planes of his chest like she’d been starving for the feel of him. Touching in ways that had nothing to do with patching wounds, or wicked ghostly ballerinas. Her palms traced every ridge of muscle, thumbs circling his nipples until they tightened under her touch, fingers barely whispering across his skin as they lit a trail of fire in their wake.

“Look at you,” she purred, voice dripping with snark and pure want, “all broody and restrained, pretending you’re not dying to bury yourself inside me. I can feel how hard you are already, big guy. That’s not the serum talking — that’s years of you staring at my ass when you thought I wasn’t looking.” She nipped his collarbone, then soothed the spot with her tongue, enjoying the groan elicited when scraping her nails down lightly his abdomen until they hooked into the waistband of his jeans. “Take these off. Now. Or I swear I’ll float us both to the ceiling and make you watch while I touch myself.”

His hand fisted in her hair pulling her into another kiss, heated and all too brief. “We can try that later.” He spun them, backing her toward the bed until her knees hit the mattress.

Clothes came off in a heated rush — her tank top tossed aside, his jeans shoved down, her shorts and panties following until there was nothing between them but skin and need. But once they were bare, Angel slowed. He wanted to savor every moment, stay in control, keep any risk that did exist to a minimum.

The old Hyperion mattress gave a loud, protesting squeak as they tumbled onto it together, the ancient springs groaning under their weight. Cordelia let out a breathless laugh against his mouth at the ridiculous sound, the tension breaking for half a second before it snapped right back into something hotter. Angel pulled back just enough to look at her — really look — his dark eyes wide with something close to wonder as he settled between her thighs. Their gazes locked. For one long heartbeat neither of them moved, the years of almosts and what-ifs hanging between them like a held breath.

He pressed forward slowly, watching her face the entire time. A quiet warmth unfurled in his chest — the same subtle deepening he’d felt since their first kiss, only stronger now, like a golden thread tightening gently between them. Cordelia’s eyes fluttered, lips parting on a soft, surprised gasp as he sank into her. The bond hummed low and steady, not a sudden flare but a slow-building glow that made every sensation sharper, every emotion clearer. She arched up to meet him, nails digging into his shoulders, a low moan escaping her as their bodies found each other. The mattress squeaked again — louder — and Cordelia’s laugh melted into a throaty groan of pure pleasure.

They moved together in long, unhurried strokes, the bond growing warmer and deeper with every slow thrust. Angel felt it like a living thing — his awareness of her expanding, every touch, every shared breath reinforcing what he had always known but never dared name. Cordelia’s eyes stayed on his, shining with the same wonder, the same certainty. The old fear in the back of his mind faded further with each measured movement, replaced by something solid and right.

The bond surged then — bright and golden at last — wrapping around them both in a rush of warmth that left them both gasping. Cordelia came with a shuddering cry, clenching around him, and he followed her over the edge, spilling deep inside her with a broken groan. The bond settled deeper, stronger, unmistakable now.

They barely paused before starting again — her on top, riding him slow and sensual while she teased him about how long he’d waited; him behind her, one hand between her legs while the other held her close, whispering how much he loved that wicked mouth of hers even when it drove him insane; tangled together face-to-face, slow and tender until the pleasure built once more.

The bond simply hummed steady and warm between them now, safe and perfect, theirs.

By the time they finally caught their breath, the Hyperion had settled back into its usual quiet morning hush, the bond settled deep within them both — warm, steady, unbreakable.

CHAPTER 10: Bonus

By morning the serum had finally stabilized — mostly. Fred’s latest tweak dulled the worst of the pheromones for everyone else, but the bond between Angel and Cordelia only seemed to settle deeper. Wesley’s books confirmed the twist: when the succubus carried her own intact human soul, the ritual flipped. No draining. Just a mutual anchor. Angel’s curse was safer with her than it had ever been alone.

Cordelia turned toward the boarded window, giving one plank an experimental tug with new demon strength while Angel watched from the bed, sheets pulled high to keep him safely in the shadows. The Hyperion felt lighter, like the lockdown had done its job and the real gift was waiting underneath all the chaos.

She turned, hair messy, smile crooked and bright. “You know what? Skip’s upgrade was supposed to be all visions-without-pain and super strength. The heat, the floating, the ‘oh god I need to taste every guy in L.A.’ — that was the messy side effect nobody asked for.” She crossed to him, climbed into his lap, and rested her forehead against his, fingers tracing lazy patterns on his bare chest. “Turns out it’s the biggest bonus of all. I get my champion. My love. Bonded. Soul-anchored. No more wondering if one perfect moment is going to send you to hell. No more pretending I don’t want this — us — every single day.”

Angel’s hands settled on her hips, thumbs brushing bare skin under the sheet. The dark notes of the last few days — the fear of draining, the uncertainty, the team’s worried voices on the walkie — melted into something warm and certain. “You sure you’re not just saying that because last night was…”

Cordelia grinned, wicked and bright, and rocked against him once, slow and deliberate. “Last night was definitely part of it. But this?” She kissed him, deep and unhurried, letting the bond pulse steady and deep between them like a promise. “This is the part I’m keeping forever. You and me, Angel. Messy demon heat cycle and all. I can feel you now — that steady, warm tether that says we’re linked, no matter how far apart we are. It’s always there, quiet and sure.”

From the hallway came Fred’s muffled cheer, Gunn’s exaggerated groan, and Wesley’s prim British mutter about “at least they waited until the research was conclusive.” Laughter echoed through the Hyperion — wicked and relieved now that everything was finally, officially resolved.

Cordelia pulled back just enough to meet Angel’s eyes, her own shining with everything she felt. “Lockdown over?”

“Lockdown over,” he agreed, voice low and happy in a way the curse had never allowed before. “But us? We’re just getting started.”

THE END.

LUCKYLYN’S CHALLENGE:
Cordy’s half-demon upgrade triggers a heat cycle, she’s all over every guy, the AI gang tries (and mostly fails) to isolate her, jealous/tempted Angel is front-and-center, and they eventually get trapped together with a tying-up scene.