Purple Lilac

Aubrey was going mad.

Two days.

For two long, miserable days Ruthven had not stirred. Further examination from Stregoni only gained a reiteration that Ruthven was merely asleep.

Why?

He had torn apart the library looking for something, anything, that would tell him about Pets and illnesses. He had even borrowed Stregoni's hoard of medical texts and harassed him to death seeking any sort of clue.

It made no sense. Ruthven had been perfectly fine on their way to the kitchen. What had caused this to happen?

Aubrey held a hand to the fading bruise on his throat. Had something been wrong with his blood?

Stregoni had warned him he would make himself sick if he kept fretting so, but this must somehow be his fault—why else would Ruthven be like this?

He worried his lower lip as he stared out at the depressing landscape beyond his window.

What did he really know, though? Ruthven, as near as he could tell, was wholly unique.

Turning away from the window, he let his gaze fall once more upon the figure lying far too still in his bed. He'd barely slept the past two days, unable to bear using the bed while Ruthven was sick, but not getting much rest by sleeping on his sofa—and he did not want to be far away in a guest room on the chance Ruthven took a turn for the worse.

He reached out to touch Ruthven's cheek, willing the damned fool to stir, but he may as well have been dead for all the signs of life he displayed. Other than his soft breaths, the warmth of his skin, he could be a corpse.

Aubrey snatched his hand away, snarling a muted curse. Why was there not a single damned book about Pets anywhere in the house? Surely, given what his mother had done, there must be—

His mother's room. Of course. He had been so guilt stricken at the thought of their explorations there being a possible reason for whatever afflicted Ruthven, he had failed to consider the cure might be there as well.

Not giving himself a chance to make excuses, he bolted through the halls—and came to a halt as he realized he did not have a way inside. The key would be somewhere in his father's room…

His father's room. There would also be a door connecting the two suites.

Heart hammering in his chest, wishing he knew why he was going to this much trouble for a Pet he did not even really like—and who was insubordinate and too intelligent and dangerous—he crept further down the hall to his father's room.

The doorknob twisted easily beneath his hand, and he pushed it slowly open, ducking his head in to verify that his father and Elisabeth were both still downstairs.

It was strange, being here. He'd never been in his father's rooms, not that he could recall, though he probably had been in them as a child.

They smelled like the petunia-scented perfume Elisabeth favored, but he also caught traces of his father's cologne, aloe and cedar leaf. The room was, of course, deeply masculine, but he saw splashes of soft color here and there that indicated his father did not live alone.

Unwilling to look longer, feeling like an invader, Aubrey dashed across the room and tried the handle on the door that led to his mother's room.

When it twisted easily, he let out the breath he hadn't known he'd been holding.

Closing it behind him, he lingered a moment with his back against the door, struggling to regain control of his beating heart, his unsteady breaths.

In daylight, the room seemed so ordinary. Clean and bright, it almost looked as though someone still lived here. He felt an old, familiar pang in his chest, the lingering wish that his mother were still alive, for surely everything would be better.

Pushing aside the useless, wishful thought, he finally ventured into the room and began to look around for books, or anything else which might prove useful. The writing desk was the most obvious place to begin, and he nearly crowed with excitement and relief when he immediately came upon a book detailing the nature and care of Pets—and froze as he read the title of the book beneath it.

A History of the Vampire.

Aubrey drew a sharp breath, unable to believe what he was seeing. Surely a book like this…precious few books were available on Pets, for fear Pets themselves would somehow learn of the knowledge contained within.

No doubt the other reason was people like his mother, who thought Pets deserved to be free and equal citizens. He picked up the book and tucked it with the other one in the crook of his arm, then quickly rifled through the desk for anything else. He was sorely tempted to take away those things he recognized now as being written by his mother, but it seemed wrong somehow. The books, he could justify. The personal items, he could not.

A quick perusal of the room revealed nothing else as promising as the books in his arms, though he did grab two more general volumes about Pets.

Finished, he turned back to the door and reached out to grab the knob—right as the door was pushed open, hitting him square in the forehead.

Aubrey tumbled to the ground with a startled cry, freezing as he realized the boots before him were the very last he wanted to see.

Slowly he dragged his gaze up to meet his father's furious expression.

"What in the hell are you doing here?" Sangre demanded coldly, voice just low enough not to be a shout.

"I want to help Ruthven," Aubrey said, rubbing his sore head as he snatched up his dropped books with the other hand and slowly stood up.

Sangre grabbed him by the front of his shirt and all but dragged him into Sangre's own room. "You are not permitted here. How the hell did you even know such books might be here to find?"

Aubrey wanted badly to take a step back. He had never seen his father so angry—even defying him to go to school had not resulted in this loss of temper. But he refused to play the coward. "I could not sleep three nights ago. I explored. On a whim, realizing I knew nothing about my mother, I decided to learn what I could."

"You did not have my permission to do that," Sangre said angrily. "I have forbidden any of you from entering your mother's room."

"Why?" Aubrey demanded, barely restraining an urge to throw the books at his father. "You didn't want us to know Mother fought for the freedom of Pets? That she cared passionately for Mina? Why would you keep that from us? Were you ashamed of her goals?"

He did step back then at the look of hurt and fury on Sangre's face.

"Do not ever suggest that I was ashamed of your mother," Sangre said, so furious he was shaking. "Do not dare."

"Then why did you never tell us?" Aubrey demanded.

Sangre glared at him. "That is none of your business. If I find any sign that you have been in her rooms again, I will thrash you within in an inch of your life."

"Naturally," Aubrey said bitterly. "If I resumed the work she never finished, I wonder what you'd do—kill me?"

"You will do no such thing!" Sangre bellowed, and Aubrey jumped with the force of it, stumbling several steps back.

He realized with a shock that it wasn't rage making his father tremble—it was fear.

His father was terrified of something.

"Why not?" he demanded. "She was passionate about it—she wanted Mina to be free."

"Yes," his father said, abruptly looking old and weary and sad. "She did. The day we met, she was fighting for that very thing…and she was getting ready for yet another fight when those who opposed her views held up her carriage and murdered them both."

Aubrey dropped the books in shock. "W-what?"

"Fear is a powerful motivator, Brey," his father said, and the pain and fear were obvious, now that Aubrey knew to look for them. "Many people feared—still fear—what might happen to humanity should the blood drinkers gain true freedom. They feared it enough they killed a woman who might very well have proven successful at freeing them."

"Why…why did you never explain this to us?"

"To keep foolish ideas from entering your head," Sangre snapped. "Because there was no need for you to know. She's dead, Mina is dead—" He broke off abruptly and took a deep, slow breath. "Get out, and I do not ever again want to hear you carrying on about saving Pets. I will beat you within an inch of your life before I permit that."

Aubrey bent to gather up his books. "I'm an adult," he said slowly, stubbornly meeting Sangre's eyes. "I can make my own decisions, and if I want to follow in my mother's footsteps, that is my choice."

"Not while you are under my house," Sangre snarled. "I forbid it, and that is the end of the matter."

He started to snarl right back that he was more than happy to leave his father's house, but bit the words back at the last, holding the books tight and turning to stomp from the room and back to his own.

Inside, he barely made it to the bed before giving in to the trembling which overtook him. Sick. He was going to be sick.

His mother and Mina had been killed by bandits. Robbers. Bastard thieves who had preyed upon defenseless women and a child. That was what he'd been told his entire life—yet now the lie seemed so pathetically obvious.

The stretch of road where they'd been killed was a private one. It was rarely used by anyone but his family and visitors like Stregoni. It led straight from their home to the town. No other major roads intersected it, only small footpaths that led to the smaller homes of peasants. Robbers would not pick such a remote location; they would choose the more populated highways.

She and Mina had died fighting for the freedom of Pets—and his father had simply buried it. Ordered the truth be lost and hidden from his children. Damn it, Aubrey had been there! He could have died too, and his father preferred to forget it all?

Why?

He buried his face in his hands, willing his body to stop shaking. Still, he had not expected to hear all that he had learned.

How could his father simply let the matter drop? It made Aubrey want to push, to defy the bastards who had killed his mother and Mina in cold blood.

Yes, that was precisely what he would do, and damn his father or anyone else who wanted to stop him.

First, however, he must save Ruthven. If he could not save one Pet from a strange disease, how could he save all of them from enslavement?

Taking a deep breath, he looked over his books, sorely tempted to go straight to the history—but the more recent treatise on Pets would probably prove to be more useful.

He was astonished he had managed to keep the books. As angry as Sangre had been, Aubrey had expected him to take the books away, to forbid him to keep them. Yet he hadn't. Maybe he'd been too angry to remember to do it.

Or too afraid.

Scowling, he focused on the thickest of the three books about Pets.

Two hours later, the scowl was more deeply etched into his face, and he set the book aside in disgust.

People really did regard Pets entirely too much like dogs or cats—or dolls. He didn't care about proper feeding or treatment or punishing without marring. He wanted to know why Ruthven was asleep and when he would wake up, and if his blood had been contaminated with something that had caused Ruthven harm.

Snarling and muttering in frustration, he cast the Pet books on the floor and snatched up the history of vampires.

He did not recognize the name of the printer, nor the publisher—plenty suspicious in its own right. He would bet every pence of his allowance that the book had been printed illegally. It was old, but well-cared for. He wondered how much it had cost his mother to purchase, and if his father knew she'd had it.

Except the last question was abruptly answered for him, like a blow to the gut, when he saw the inscription on the first page.

To my beauties, and our quest for answers and freedom ~Jon

Aubrey threw the book across the room, unable to cope with what he was seeing.

His father had not simply known about his mother's struggle to free Pets—he had been part of it.

No, he refused to accept that. His strict, unbending, unreasonable father could not have been involved in a struggle to free Pets. He had not even had a Pet back then.

Shoving the thoughts aside, absolutely refusing to solve the infuriating riddle that his father was proving to be, Aubrey returned to the books about Pet care, hoping vainly that one of them would provide the answer he sought.

He read until it began to strain his eyes, and finally stood up to stretch and light the lamps, and ring for food.

When the food came, he ate in bed, too impatient and in need of distraction to even think of stopping for longer than he already had.

He was so enthralled in the books, the hand upon his shoulder made him jump and yelp. Jerking around, he stared wide-eyed at an awake and grinning Ruthven. "What—you—how—damn it!" Aubrey cast his book aside and shoved hard, sending Ruthven tumbling off the bed.

"That was uncalled for," Ruthven said, slowly pulling himself to his knees and propping his arms on the bed, looking up at Aubrey with a wounded expression. "Why did you do that?" Slowly he climbed back onto the bed, as if wary of being shoved off again.

Aubrey was sorely tempted. "You've been asleep for over two days, and I've been worried sick, and you didn't even have the decency to explain or even apologize, you just grin you infuriating bastard, like it was nothing. I thought you were going to die—"

He was cut off by Ruthven's mouth covering his own, so taken by surprise he did not even think to resist or pull away. Even when he recovered himself, he could not seem to make himself draw back. Ruthven tasted faintly of blood, but it wasn't as unpleasant as Aubrey would have thought, and he tasted of other things, which Aubrey could not quite place. His mouth was warm, lips soft, and wholly against his will, Aubrey clung to Ruthven and let himself be thoroughly kissed.

"I'm sorry, I did not mean to worry you," Ruthven said softly when they finally broke apart.

Ruthven's voice restored some of Aubrey's sense, and he ignored the way his face went hot at the knowledge he'd just let Ruthven kiss him. "That is not good enough, damn it," he said. "You—" he stopped, not certain what to say, and simply glared. "Bastard."

"I'm very sorry, Master," Ruthven said. "I never meant to cause you this much distress."

Aubrey narrowed his eyes, and realized Ruthven still held him. "Let me go," he said stiffly.

Ruthven smiled faintly, then leaned forward and kissed him again, tugging sharply when Aubrey tried to pull away, and then he was all but devouring Aubrey's mouth, destroying all attempts at protest, and how the hell had he learned to kiss so well when he'd never belonged to anyone before?

But the more time passed, the more he suspected Ruthven belonged to no one but himself, and had never been, nor ever truly would be, a Pet.

Aubrey moaned as the kiss deepened, let himself be consumed, ignoring for now those parts of him screaming in protest. Arms slid around him, warm and solid, and Aubrey went with only a whimper when he was pulled down atop Ruthven.

Ruthven's hair was soft and thick, finer than even the fur throws he often used to beat back the cold. The body beneath his was solid and hard, far from unpleasant to be sprawled upon, even with the awkwardness of clothes between them.

"You always taste sweet," Ruthven said.

The sound of his voice brought Aubrey back to his senses, but even as he started to protest, Ruthven bit down on his bottom lip. The pain was bright and sharp, and briefly knocked his sense away again, and the slow drag of Ruthven's tongue across the wound ruined any chance of his sense returning.

"Intractable Pet," he muttered before he was overtaken once more by a hungry kiss, the hot, iron taste of blood stronger than ever—and it was his own, a fact that made him shiver, or maybe that was a result of the hands stroking up and down his back, slipping just beneath his shirt to rake lightly across his skin.

Ruthven nuzzled his cheek, his throat. "Mm, hungry, Master."

Aubrey groaned, struggling to remind himself why this was a bad idea, to order Ruthven to cease, but all that came out was, "Then feed."

Not needing to be told twice, Ruthven sank his fangs into Aubrey's throat.

He jerked, hissing in pain, but the hands boldly caressing him were equally distracting, and Aubrey was caught in a storm of sensation, lost between the pleasure and the pain. His hips moved without permission, grinding his trapped cock against Ruthven's, begging for a release he could not quite find, clashing with the pain of his blood being drained away, the bruise he could already feel forming from the ferocity of the bite.

Then Ruthven grabbed his hips, bringing him down hard as he thrust up, sucking harder still. Aubrey screamed in surprise and release.

He felt dizzy and sated as he collapsed on Ruthven, and so heavy with sleep he half wondered if he'd been drugged.

A warm tongue lapped at his throat, and he shivered at the sensation.

Rolling off Ruthven, he mustered enough energy to prop up on his elbows and glare. "This was not supposed to happen."

"You should sleep. It is obvious you've not gotten proper rest while I slept. Again, I apologize most humbly."

Aubrey snorted, but was too tired to do anything but collapse into his pillows and mutter a reply. "You are wholly incapable of being humble about anything."

Ruthven laughed softly. "Yes, Master."

He should get up and get cleaned, Aubrey thought sleepily. If he remained as he was, when he woke up he would be in agony.

But moving was too difficult an endeavor, and his bed was warm and comfortable even if his clothes were not, and the sound of Ruthven moving was, despite his efforts not to find it so, reassuring.

Tired of arguing with himself, Aubrey gave up and let sleep take him.