Story - Embrace ch. 7

[maderr]

Enchanter's Nightshade

(chapter seven)

Stregoni shivered in the dark cold of the early morning. It was an hour he was truly beginning to hate, and out of doors was not a way to attempt to enjoy it.

His only other option, however, was to return inside.

He would rather freeze to death than listen to the haunting melodies played by a man who only used and discarded him. A man whose hot kisses always made him forget that they hid a stone heart.

The cold numbed, and he needed it. He ached inside and out, body thoroughly and almost savagely used, heart shredded all over again. Would he ever learn?

No, and he knew it, so he may as well stop asking himself that same damn question every time he gave in to the need to let Gille use him.

Why did Gille use him?

Probably, he just liked knowing he had that sort of power. Power was as natural to Gille as breathing.

Stregoni jumped at the sound of another's feet in the snow, spinning around – and drew up short.

"What are you doing out here?" he asked, trying for curt but not quite managing, still raw and shaken from his tempestuous interlude with Gille.

Francois shrugged. "I could not sleep. I wanted a walk. I do beg your pardon, Dr. Benefici."

Stregoni frowned. "Did you get Gille's approval?"

"I did not wish to disturb him," Francois said, then a cold smirk slid over his pretty mouth as he dragged his gaze slowly up and down Stregoni's body. "He seemed busy."

"Watch your tongue and manners," Stregoni said, the words lashing out.

Shame washed through him, but so did jealousy, white hot and bright.

Francois was beautiful. His hair was true black, fine and cut short to frame his almost pretty features. Though the moonlight was not enough to see them clearly, Stregoni knew his eyes were a breathtaking purple, richer than the finest dyes. Like Gille, he was tall and slender. Only Ruthven, Stregoni thought, could rival Francois in the beauty department.

Next to him, Stregoni felt truly ugly. He could not fathom why Gille touched him at all, except for the thrill it gave him to see Stregoni so low and desperate.

He didn't hate Francois for his looks, though. No, he hated Francois because for all he was a Pet, he was close to Gille. He shared Gille's bed, was treated with accord, went with him about the city and town, conversed with him a friendly manner…

Francois knew Gille in a way Stregoni never would, had Gille in a way Stregoni would never know.

"Get back inside," he said curtly. "Do not wander about without your master." Not waiting for a reply, he turned and stalked away, moving closer to the dormant and frozen weeping willow opposite the small frozen pond that occupied this side of the house.

He stared at the pond, wondering how thick the ice was, how cold the water – cold enough he would feel it, or would it numb him instantly?

For one fleeting moment, he was tempted to find out. He'd taken a step forward, boots crunching in the snow, when a sudden wash of lethargy struck him. He yawned, nearly dropping to his knees, and slowly stepped back, well away from the pond.

The back of his knees collided with a bench, and he more fell than sat down upon it, heedless of the snow which could not penetrate the solid cloak which had been a gift from Camilla last winter.

He looked up as Francois approached. "Get back inside. I cannot think the consequences for your disobedience are worth a jaunt in the snow."

"Oh, I think the chance to speak with you, doctor, will make my punishment well worth it," Francois, voice smooth as silk, and as slick as the ice covering the pond.

Stregoni felt a chill that had nothing to do with the cold. "Why would you want to speak with me?"

Francois smiled in a way that flashed his fangs.

He repressed a shiver, and stood up, refusing to appear as though he were cowering before what was in reality little more than a piece of property.

"I wanted to know," Francois said, still baring his fangs, "what he finds so interesting in an ugly little thing like you.

Stregoni flushed with shame and anger. "You are out of line, Pet. Get out of my sight."

"No," Francois said, and strode closer.

The look in his eye sent a pulse of alarm through Stregoni – but it also put his back up. Damn it, he did not deserve this. As Francois approached, he took a step forward of his own and shoved Francois back, looking on in satisfaction as he fell to the snow, clearly taken by surprise. "Get back to your master," he snapped. "Leave me in peace."

Instead Francois lashed out, and with a startled cry Stregoni stumbled sideways into the snow, managing to land so his face was buried in it.

Then he was yanked up, blinking snow from his eyes as he stared up at Francois, whose purple eyes were bright with rage – and something else, which Stregoni almost recognized, before they were abruptly caught in an awkward, angry grappling, and he wondered for a moment why there were acting in such childish fashion.

As he collided roughly with the bench though, hard enough he would likely find a bruise in the morning, Stregoni ceased to care.

"You should be in bed, Pet," he snarled, throwing Francois off and regaining his feet.

"At least I was paid for," Francois snarled. "You seem to give yourself away for free."

Stregoni turned red, and threw a punch before he had time to think, putting every last bit of his misery and pain, shame and humiliation, anger and confusion and frustration, into it.

Francois reeled back – but didn't fall. His eyes almost seemed to glow now, there was so much anger in them.

"It's no business of yours," Stregoni snarled, tensed for whatever Francois did next, "if your Master feels compelled to seek his pleasures elsewhere."

"No, I suppose not," Francois said, abruptly recovering some of his cool composure, though his eyes were still hot. "Because he always comes back to me after he's done tossing you, doesn't he?"

Stregoni barely resisted an urge to attack him again, and only because he was suddenly struck with realization. He knew what he'd seen in Francois' eyes a moment ago – jealousy. Francois was jealous of him.

"Why?" he asked. "Why are you jealous of me? Why would you do this? You'll be lucky if Gille doesn't beat you should he find this out."

Hate filled Francois' face. "I'm not jealous of an ugly little doctor," he hissed. "I—" His words cut off abruptly, dismay flickering across his face for a moment before his reserved mask fell into place.

Stregoni spun around just as a hand wrapped around his arm, and he was jerked roughly forward.

"What is going on here?" Gille demanded, voice level but full of promise that bad things would happen if a suitable explanation was not provided. He was still only partially dressed, having done nothing more than pulled on his boots and thrown on a cloak before coming outside.

His hair was loose, even, tumbling about his face in a disheveled mess, eyes bright and sharp behind the loose strands

Stregoni ignored the question. "What are you doing out here?" he asked.

Gille shook him hard. "I am asking the questions here, Carrot. Why are you both out here and why does it look as though you have been fighting?" He abruptly let go of Stregoni to stalk to Francois.

"Pet," he said in a silky, menacing tone. "I did not give you permission to leave the house."

"No, master," Francois said, tone quiet, almost mellow. It was clear he knew he was in trouble, but he did not look away from the fury in Gille's face, but met his gaze dead on.

That was when Stregoni saw it, though the flicker of emotion was gone nearly as quickly as it had come.

Francois was in love with Gille – really, truly, as hopelessly in love as Stregoni.

Damn it.

"We were doing fine until you showed up," he said, snapping the words, knowing Gille would hate the tone. "Do me a favor and go away again."

Gille immediately whipped around, eyes snapping to his. He let go of Francois and stalked back to Stregoni. "What is going on…" He blinked suddenly, swayed, and held a hand to his head.

"Are you—" Stregoni stopped abruptly as he was overtaken by a wave of exhaustion and dizziness, and he saw that Francois seemed to be suffering the same.

What was wrong with them?

Then Gille shook himself. "Get inside," he snapped at both of them. "Honestly, walking about in the cold – your both idiots, and the last thing I need is to be burdened with a couple of corpses in the winter. Inside, now, or I'll throw you in the pond myself.

He grabbed Stregoni's arm and dragged him along, turning his head to snap, "Francois! Now!"

Stregoni jerked his arm away. "Do not touch me," he hissed.

"You didn't mind an hour ago," Gille replied, anger fading, replaced by the more familiar cold mockery. "Why were you and my Pet walking about together at this hour?"

Francois walked just behind them, and Stregoni turned to look at him.

He felt a moment of dizzy confusion as he looked at Francois' beautiful face. He'd been utterly certain he would see a split lip, but now he could not think why he had expected such a thing.

They had been walking. Arguing about…or perhaps over…Gille. He'd told Francois many a time to go back inside.

And he remembered figuring out that Francois was as in love with Gille as he – but he could not remember much of it clearly.

"We were discussing how utterly despicable you are," Stregoni finally retorted. "He's too nice to say so, of course, but I am not."

He did not wait for a reply as they returned inside, but threw off his wet cloak and immediately took to the stairs, all but bolting for his room once he reached the second landing.

Stripping out of his wet clothes, he bundled into his night robe and slumped into a chair by the fire that only required a moments work to bring fully back to life.

What had happened?

The whole night was a blur of images and impressions – Gille's hair shining in candlelight, sweat gleaming on his skin as he took Stregoni hard and fast and brutal, the smell of wine, the cold, sharp, scent of winter, the bite of the air.

Angry words, the shocking realization that Francois was jealous of him.

A hazy image of punching someone, of grappling in the snow, but it seemed more like a fading dream than a reality. Had he fallen asleep briefly? Was he so cold and tired that he was confusing tonight's chance meeting with Francois with his fight with William?

He yawned and shoved the thoughts away to deal with come morning.

Standing up, he stumbled his way to bed and tossed his robe aside before burrowing beneath the blankets, asleep before he hit the pillow.

The sound of someone pounding on his door jerked him awake.

"Come in," he croaked, then cleared his throat and tried again.

He'd barely gotten the words out when the door was thrown open and a frantic-looking Aubrey stumbled in. He was barely dressed, hair a tangled mess, eyes wide with fear "Stregoni – it's Ruthven."

"Ruthven?" Stregoni echoed, struggling to wake up. "What's wrong?" He threw back the covers and retrieved his robe from the floor.

If was bothered by the lack of modesty, Aubrey gave no show of it. "He won't wake up. It's like he's dead, but he's still breathing. I don't now what's wrong—he didn't—he went—"

Alarmed by the panic overtaking his normally calm friend, Stregoni grabbed his shoulders and shook Aubrey hard. "Brey! Calm down. Take me to him." Not bothering to take the time to dress, Stregoni made certain his robe was well-fastened, then snatched up his medic bag and all but dragged his friend from the room, doing the leading himself as they made their way to Aubrey's room.

In Aubrey's bed, Ruthven looked fast asleep. He was stretched out on his back, head braced on a pillow, lying under a mount of blankets. He could see where Aubrey had frantically thrown them back in his haste.

Setting his bag down on the bed, Stregoni frowned thoughtfully as he began to examine Ruthven.

First he tried simply to wake him – gently at first, then more firmly with a hard slap to his face.

Nothing.

"Hmm," he murmured, then went systematically about checking his pulse, his breathing, for any sign of injury. "Did you do anything unusual last night?"

Aubrey was silent a moment. "We were up late, exploring the house a bit. We couldn't sleep. Then we went down to the kitchen to get some food and…" He fell silent.

Stregoni turned to see why.

"I don't remember," Aubrey said. "I…we went for food…then I woke up in bed. I don't remember anything else." He placed his fingers to his temples. "Ruthven…Ruthven said something, or saw something. I don't remember! I can't even tell you what we had to eat."

He moved to the bed himself, reaching out to lightly touch Ruthven's cheek. "I was mad at him most of the night, I remember that much," he said quietly.

"Brey, this isn't your fault," Stregoni said, sliding fully into doctor mode. He hadn't thought Aubrey spared a moment's thought for the Pet which had been forced upon him, but he was exhibiting the guilt loved ones always displayed for the family or lover or friend who was ill. "You'll have to tell me in more detail everything you did last night. You said exploring? Where? What did you do? Touch?"

Aubrey was silent, staring hard at Ruthven, obviously lost in thought.

Stregoni grasped his shoulder. "Brey."

"We—" Aubrey finally dragged his eyes away from the sleeping Ruthven. "You can't tell anyone, Stregoni."

"Of course not," Stregoni said, baffled and a little stung, words coming out a bit sharper than he intended. "I'm your friend, and a doctor knows how to be discreet better than anyone."

Aubrey flinched. "I know, I'm sorry. We—I caught him breaking into my mother's room. He never would say why he did it. We poked around…" He looked guiltily away. "Looked through her things. I had no idea—" He drew a sharp breath and shook his head. "Anyway, we touched papers, that was all. Well, and I looked at a bottle of perfume. Then we left, went down to the kitchen. After that, I don't remember anything." He frowned in though. "I went to bed alone, I think. Ruthven must have come in a few minutes later."

He turned back to Ruthven, and for the first time Stregoni noticed the lurid bruise on Aubrey's throat. He reached out reflexively to touch it, pulling back when Aubrey jerked. "What happened, Brey?"

Aubrey turned a bright red, his own hand going up to touch the bruise. "Feeding," he said tersely. "Ruthven fed deep, or got carried away, or something."

Stregoni quirked a brow, wondering what wasn't being said that'd cause his friend to turn that particular shade, but did not press it. "Well, I guess that answers the question of whether or not you've been feeding him thoroughly."

"I wouldn't starve my Pet to death," Aubrey snapped, glaring at him – then he turned away, voice calmer when he spoke again. "Sorry."

Shrugging it off, Stregoni returned to examining his patient, but finally drew back with a shake of his head. "I think he's just sleeping, Brey. There's nothing wrong with him. Heart, breathing, everything seems normal. It's like he's just gone into a deep sleep. He smiled reassuringly. "We'll give him a day or so, then see how he fairs. I know it's hard, Brey, but I don't think you have anything to worry about. It's peculiar, for certain, but I don't see anything actually wrong with him. No fever, he's not too hot or cold, heart beat is true, breathing seems normal, he's healthy looking – just asleep."

Aubrey nodded, obviously wanting to argue but holding back.

"Keep an eye on him, and I'll linger a few days more. Not in a hurry to fight my way through this snow, anyway." He stepped closed enough to embrace Aubrey briefly. "Do not worry upon it, insofar as that's possible."

He only received another nod in reply, but Aubrey also relaxed the slightest bit. "Thank you, Stregoni."

"It's what I'm for," Stregoni replied, and retrieved his bag before leaving them alone.

There was many a question he would like to ask, but his curiosity would have to be appeased later.

He wandered slowly back to his room, lost in thought – and collided with someone else, turning the corner. Shaking his head, he stepped back, offering apologies automatically.

When he looked up, he was staring into the dark purple eyes of Francois, who glared back but said nothing.

Confusion rose up, as he suddenly recalled all that had happened the previous night – and realized that he could remember very little of it. "Did we….talk….last night?" He asked.

"Yes, Doctor Benefici," Francois said, polite but cool – but Stregoni could see that Francois was just as confused.

He opened his mouth to say something, but then closed again, not certain what to say. The only thing from their time outside that he recalled with perfect clarity was that single moment when he realized that he and Francois had one terrible, agonizing thing in common.

They both loved Gille, despite all the reasons not.

Jealousy still crackled between them, but Stregoni could not summon it with the energy he had before. It was hard to hate someone who knew all too well what his particular brand of misery was like.

He bit off an urge to speak, to ask, to sympathize – to do any number of things that would only be stupid.

Muttering another apology, he broke their locked gaze and strode past Francois, back to his own room.