It's been months of hunting her, tracking her from continent to continent, and the chase has made victory all the more sweet. The others were so very easy that he appreciates the challenge that Willow has given him.
That fool Xander welcomed death by the time Angelus ended his miserable existence. Buffy's little sister was too surprised to even scream before he ripped out her throat. Buffy, herself, was a sheer disappointment. Lazy and unprepared, she had fallen much too quickly. He had actually found himself missing the witty banter as they fought, which made him end it soon because she just wasn't a worthy opponent anymore and he couldn't be bothered with someone inferior.
Willow is worthy. It has taken him nearly a year to finally corner her. Bodies were left in his wake as he tracked her; young slayers who foolishly thought they were a match for him. They soon learned that no one was a match for him, not now. Spike is pathetic but he keeps him alive because it amuses him. Drusilla is collecting slayers like dollies: pale, dead dollies with unseeing eyes. Buffy was the only true threat, so he thought, and she was easily removed from his life.
By the time Willow faces him in the abandoned pub in Milan, she has no one. He has made it a goal to kill everyone she speaks to, after all, and he tortures those who dare help her. Her talent with magic is no match for him, regardless of how truly powerful she has become. He can taste it in the air as he walks closer, feel it all around them, and he smiles because she knows it is how he is always able to find her. He likes the knowledge that the very tool she learned to fight creatures like him now acts as a beacon to him so there can be no hiding.
For a moment, he fears she has given up. He has no interest in her surrender. He wants her to fight, to be a true enemy in all senses of the word because it makes his triumph more rewarding. For months, he has thought of this moment. There's no wasted time with witty quips that occupied so much of their time back when Sunnydale wasn't a hole and Los Angeles wasn't a haven for those like him. He can now return to his city and remind them all who is true master.
But not until he takes care of this last loose end.
She starts to struggle when he reaches for her. Finally, he has her where he wants. She sends spells at him that he easily deflects and scratches him when he gets closer. He laughs as he grips her throat and pushes her against the wall. Still, she fights. He stares at her and watches her eyes widen as she seems to truly understand. If he wanted her dead, he'd have killed her ages ago. The challenge, the hunt, the fight---that's what he wants and it certainly won't end with her death.
"No," she whispers as she intensifies her efforts to get away.
Angelus laughs as he lowers his head. "Yes," he murmurs against her throat before he bites down hard. Her blood spills onto his tongue and he groans as his hips buck against her. It's ambrosia, sweet and tinged with magic, and he drinks as he rocks against her. This is what he has been missing: someone truly worthy to call his own. When she grows limp in his arms, her breath ragged and weak, he raises his head and licks the blood from his lips.
He makes her stay like that, caught between life and death, and watches her slowly die. He can sense the end. Only then does he bite into his wrist and offer it to her. She keeps her lips firmly shut even in near death, which confirms that he has made the right choice. He grows tired of her stubborn antics, however, and bites her shoulder hard. She gasps and her lips part, which is all he needs.
Soon, she takes her last breath. Her body shudders against him and he savors the loss of her life. Within moments, though, she stirs again and begins lapping at his wrist. He smiles triumphantly as he feels the connection between sire and childe form as she drinks from him.