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In his dark lair the first Master not to need darkness smiled. It would not be long now . . . a few years, clearing up this and that. Finding someone to stand in for his father. And then he would be ready and the Slayer would fall.
Such a pretty little girl she was. She could have been his mother . . . he found that extremely amusing. Couldn’t you just see it—half Slayer, half vampire? Perhaps he would try it. After all, he didn’t have to kill her right away. And she had liked his father so much . . . Surely she would welcome the son with equally open arms. After he broke them, that was. But it was certainly an idea. She was quite adorable, if a little . . . blond for his taste. But she was strong and she would do well bearing the Heir to his power. Very well indeed.
The Master of the night, the Master of the day. In the darkness, he smiled.
Angel turned from the pictures on the computer screen, emotions unnamable racing through him. He had waited too long. He could not have expected her to wait for him forever. She thought he was dead! And he, like a fool, had hid himself. But perhaps it was not so foolish. Perhaps it was for the best. Perhaps this man would make her happy as Angel had never been able to. Angel and Buffy had too much of a past, but this man . . . he was everything Angel was not. Everything Angel had not been. Because now Angel was more like him than he had ever thought possible.
Now Angel was human.