Globe Amaranth

Aubrey opened his eyes slowly, still more asleep than awake—then realized what he was lying against was not a pillow, and his eyes snapped open. He sat up jerkily and saw that sometime in the night he'd moved to rest against Ruthven.

Grimacing at himself, he shoved back the blankets and climbed out of bed. Strolling into the sitting room, he glanced at the clock and saw it was well past ten in the morning. Being home was making him lazy.

Eschewing a bath for the moment, he freshened up at the pitcher in his bedroom, then changed into clean clothes. Slipping on a pair of buckled shoes, he approached the bed to give Ruthven one last look over, reaching out to comb lightly through his hair.

If Ruthven felt the touch, he gave no sign of it.

Sighing softly, Aubrey finally turned away to see what he might do today.

Downstairs, he knocked on the door of his Sangre's study, but heard no reply from within. Opening the door, he found it was empty.

Frowning, he closed the door and headed for the breakfast room. Three sides of it were glass, from ceiling to about halfway down the wall. There was a fireplace in the fourth wall, the door in the corner. Normally it was a cheerful room in which to begin the day, but with the curtains pulled back to reveal the endlessly falling white, the overall impression was one of weary resignation.

The room was empty, so Aubrey left to look elsewhere. Spying a maid dusting in a hallway, he asked her where his father might be found.

"With her ladyship, my lord," the maid replied.

"Thank you," Aubrey said, ignoring the way she turned bright red while speaking to him.

Making his way back upstairs, he headed for his sister's room.

Sure enough, there was his father, sitting in an armchair he had pulled over to the bedside. He did not look up as Aubrey approached, and Aubrey wondered if his arrival had even been noticed.

Drawing close to the chair, his eyes were caught by movement, and he looked down to see—

"You drew the picture in my study?" he blurted out, too shocked by what he was seeing to remain silent.

Sangre's head whipped up and around, his hand stopping mid-stroke in the middle of the portrait he was drawing of a sleeping Carmilla. Aubrey knew the art style—it was indeed the same as the portrait of his mother and Mina. The same as the sketches he and Ruthven had found in his mother's room.

"We always thought it was mother or Mina who drew…"

"Brey," Sangre greeted, looking back down at the sketch. "I did not hear you come in. You look well rested."

"Yes," Aubrey said. "Why did you never say you were the artist in the family?"

Sangre gave a minute shrug. "Because I lost all interest after they died, and it made Carmilla happy to think she acquired her talent from her mother." His face tightened briefly. "Of late, the desire to draw appears to have returned. I thought to sketch while I watched over her…"

Aubrey nodded, still unable to believe it—his stern, strict, reserved father was responsible for all the beautiful artwork, the portrait he'd always kept. He looked at Carmilla. "How is she?"

"No better," Sangre said heavily. "I fear…" He shook his head. "I hope she at least wakes up soon, for the measure I must take will require her knowledge and approval."

"What are you talking about?" Aubrey asked.

Sangre only shook his head. "I must speak with your sister first."

Recognizing the finality of his tone, Aubrey reluctantly dropped the matter.

Normally, he would have argued and pushed. Now…as strange as it still was to be getting along with his father, it was far from being an unpleasant strangeness. He was reluctant to start arguing again. "Has Stregoni returned yet?"

"No," Sangre replied, and resumed sketching again. "I do not imagine he, Gilles, and François will return for another day or two."

"Where in the world did they go?" Aubrey asked. "Surely Gilles and François are still recovering. They shouldn't be out in this weather."

Sangre sighed. "Gilles went to see his father. Though I tried, I could not persuade him to stay. I believe Stregoni and François went after him. Unfortunately, this weather means there is no telling when they will be able to return."

Aubrey frowned. "Why does he live with us, rather than with Uncle George?"

"Because my fool brother is no longer fit to be a parent," Sangre said sharply, and drew a line in the portrait with a tad more force than was necessary. "As I said before, we both lost the women that were the center of our world. I chose to live for them, and for our children. Later, I met Elisabeth, and I love her just as much as I once loved Lucy and Mina, but there is no one I love more than you and Carmilla. My brother…" Sangre sighed. "My brother chose to hate his child."

"I admit Gilles is more than a little difficult to get along with, but I'm certain people say the same about me as often as not. Why would his own father hate him, though?"

Sangre shook his head. "I promised Gilles I would not discuss his problems, and I have already said too much. To be honest, I do not even know the whole of it myself. Suffice to say my brother was always a fool, and has only grown worse over the years. Gilles will not cut him away entirely, though I keep trying to persuade him to do exactly that. Perhaps François and Stregoni together will have more luck than any of us had alone."

"Stregoni?" Aubrey said. "Until recently, I always thought Gilles and Stregoni hated each other. I'm still confused as to what exactly is going on between them, though Stregoni's feelings are plain enough."

"I doubt any of them knows what is between them, as complicated as they have made the situation," Sangre said with a snort. "Hopefully they will work it out before it's too late." He shook his head. "Young people."

Aubrey copied the derisive snort. "This from a man who was apparently in quite the scandalous relationship when he was young." He moved to sit on the edge of Carmilla's bed, reaching out idly to stroke his sister's hand, hating that she was so still. "Did anyone else know about it? I cannot imagine your parents would have approved."

"A few very close friends knew," Sangre said, setting aside the drawing of Carmilla and beginning something new. Aubrey could not see what from his new position on the bed. "My parents suspected, I think, but chalked it up to a boy sowing his wild oats." He looked up to glance at Aubrey, then Carmilla, and smiled ever so faintly, briefly, before returning his gaze to his sketch. "Lucy's guardian did not care what she did, so long as she married well and was discreet about anything unconventional. Rumors did begin to circulate, of course, for your mother and Mina were both beautiful." He shook his head, smirking briefly. "More than a few men made impolite inquiries, I think out of jealousy more than anything else."

"I always thought you were so proper," Aubrey said, shaking his head and laughing.

Sangre looked at him in amusement. "Children never think their parents capable of being normal people, not until they are much older, if ever." He returned to his sketch, and it was so bizarre to see his father doing such a thing. Aubrey could only stare in wonder. "The increase of those rumors was one of the reasons we moved out here after we were married. Until then, this manor had been closed for years. It was hard, adjusting to country life, but we found ourselves fond of it rather quickly."

Aubrey nodded. He wasn't certain he'd ever get used to the idea that the father he'd thought he'd always known had in fact been a rebel, and one with two lovers.

A sudden thought occurred to him. "What did your brother think of all this?"

"He did not care," Sangre said. "We are twins, but we were never particularly close. It was better after he got married. His wife brought out the better parts of him that he had never bothered to display before. He thought I was a fool, but I thought the same of him. Once his wife died, he became despicable." Sangre's mouth tightened with anger. "I will never forget the way Gilles looked the day I finally brought him home."

Aubrey frowned but did not ask. "Why does Gilles still go to see him, then?"

"That is complicated," Sangre replied.

"Everything is complicated," Aubrey muttered, turning to look at his sister again.

Sangre sighed. "Yes, it is." He set aside his newest sketch and began still another.

Aubrey looked in surprise at the new one—it was of him, sitting on Carmilla's bed. He coughed and looked away, reaching out restlessly to stroke Carmilla's hair.

"I take it Ruthven has not stirred," Sangre said into the silence.

"No," Aubrey replied. "He was still fast asleep when I woke."

Sangre looked up. "You should go eat something, Brey. I cannot imagine you bothered before finding me here. The inspector said that, weather permitting, he could stop by today to give us a progress report on the hunt for William. You should eat before he arrives."

"Have you eaten?" Aubrey asked suspiciously.

"Yes, though I admit only because Elisabeth is quite strict with me." Sangre said. "Go do likewise."

Unable to think of a good reason to protest, Aubrey accepted the dismissal.

Instead of going downstairs, he made his way slowly back to his own room, mind spinning with dozens upon dozens of thoughts. His father, his sister, Gilles and Stregoni, Ruthven…

He was so lost in thought, he barely avoided running smack into the footman carrying a large bathtub into his room.

"What is going on here?" he asked, following them inside, watching as they set it in place, and still more footmen began to appear with hot water. "I did not call for a bath."

"I did."

Aubrey whipped around and stared. "You're awake."

Ruthven smiled from where he leaned lazily in the doorway between bedroom and sitting room. "Master, it is good to see you are looking well."

"Damn it, Ruthven!" Aubrey said, annoyed though he could not say why, exactly. "Why did you not come and tell me you were awake?"

He realized too late he should not have gotten close, for the moment he was within reach, Ruthven snagged him close and took his mouth in a searing kiss.

"Good morning, Master," Ruthven murmured when he finally allowed the kiss to end. His fingers trailed lightly over Aubrey's throat. "Are you sufficiently recovered in strength to feed me?"

Aubrey realized suddenly the servants were still going in and out of the room to fill the bath, and his face went hot. "Could we discuss this in the bedroom, please?"

A glint sparked in Ruthven's eyes. "If you insist, Master."

"That is not what I meant," Aubrey hissed. "You are not getting away with that again."

"Yes, Master," Ruthven said.

Aubrey didn't believe him for a second. Pushing Ruthven away, he preceded him into the bedroom, moving to the window to look out at the damnable snow. It was everywhere. Only the trees were at all identifiable, and they seemed to be rapidly losing the battle to winter.

Warm lips touched his throat, gentle against the mostly faded but still present bruise.

"Why do you keep feeding from my throat?" Aubrey asked. "It's entirely improper." The better question, of course, was why he kept permitting it.

He pointedly ignored all the heated answers his body was supplying and attempted to pull free, but Ruthven was pressed full against his backside, one arm braced on the glass, the other wrapped around his waist. Aubrey was rather efficiently trapped, though if he really wanted free, Ruthven would move away.

Which begged the question why he was not insisting, but he stubbornly ignored the question so to avoid having to supply the answer.

Teeth nipped lightly at his skin, making him gasp and jerk.

"Stop it," he said. "It really is unseemly."

"Mmm," Ruthven murmured, tongue lapping to soothe the sting from his nips. "You look good with it, Master. You were made to bear the marks of a vampire's embrace."

"A what—" Aubrey gasped as Ruthven chose that moment to bite, jerking at the sudden pain—but then he felt suddenly lethargic, as though he had heavily imbibed and would shortly fall asleep. He stilled in Ruthven's arms, unprotesting as he was bundled close, his head tipped to the side to give Ruthven better access.

Somewhere in there, it had stopped hurting as badly.

When Ruthven stopped feeding, the world spun, until Aubrey realized he was lying on the bed. He stared up at the canopy, trying to figure out what exactly had transpired.

Ruthven appeared over him, and now Aubrey felt his weight and warmth. He was still too mellow to protest though, and could not even muster the energy to push Ruthven away when he bent to steal a kiss. Instead, he gave in to it, clinging for dear life as Ruthven plundered his mouth. He tasted like blood, but was also hot and spicy and male.

Somewhere in the past several days, he had grown entirely too used to Ruthven's kisses. He feared he was beginning to need them. "What—" he was cut off as Ruthven's hands began to take liberties, and realized suddenly his own hands were taking some liberties of their own.

Damn it, he'd not intended his to happen.

Yet he could not muster a protest when Ruthven pulled him up just enough to discard his shirt entirely.

"What was it you said a moment ago?" he asked, managing to get the words out one by one between kisses and caresses. This was nothing like the last time, which had been fast and feverish. This was just as heated and consuming, but slower. Almost…sweeter.

Ruthven kissed him again, thorough and lingering. "You were made to wear the marks of a vampire's embrace."

Aubrey groaned as that statement was followed by another kiss, this one faster and hotter, accompanied by Ruthven's hand cupping his cock through his breeches. "What…what does that mean?" He reached up to shove back Ruthven's shirt, one hand trailing down the fine, smooth chest, the other going up to touch the velvet collar wrapped around Ruthven's neck.

Catching his hand, Ruthven kissed the palm, then his wrist. "These days, nothing." His eyes, still so dark and strange, almost seemed to glow. "Once, a very long time ago, it was considered an honor to be strong enough to be fed upon so voraciously."

"You know so much," Aubrey said, freeing his capture hand to reach up with both to lightly touch Ruthven's face. "What are you?"

"Only yours," Ruthven replied, hands going still as they stared at each other.

Aubrey shook his head slightly, never breaking contact. "You are more than that."

"No," Ruthven said softly. "I am yours, and nothing more. That's all I want to be."

Aubrey could only continue to stare, captured by the strange, beautiful eyes and the wealth of emotions he could see now, simmering there just below the surface. "What color are your eyes?" he said, voice barely more than a whisper.

"All colors," Ruthven said simply, "and none." He turned his head to kiss the palm of Aubrey's hand again.

Though there were any number of reasons that succumbing to this was a bad idea, Aubrey could recall none of them. Grasping Ruthven's shoulders, he dragged him down for another kiss and gave himself up to Ruthven's wants and his own desires.