Story - Embrace ch. 11
Jun. 29th, 2008 08:52 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
maderrThis is all you're getting out of me this weekend. I'm going to go play now.
Let's hope I remembered everything that had to go in this chapter. It's hard to remember all the little pieces when you're in the thick of it.
Stregoni was still trembling as he reached his room, and gave in to a pathetic urge to slam his door shut.
Gille had been smiling – really smiling – at Carmilla.
He was used to being jealous of Francois, though that had eased since their strange encounter. But Carmilla – what did she do to earn smiles, when he would give up everything he had for just one.
Pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes, Stregoni willed all thoughts of the bastard away, scrubbing at his sore lips, where Gille had kissed him just to enrage him. There'd been no tenderness in it, just a…feverishness, and he was so very tired of trying to unravel the mystery that was Gille.
Sighing, he began to strip out of his casual clothing, pulling out what he would need for a more formal supper – which brought him right back to thoughts of Gille.
Damn it.
This supper could have nothing to do with him. Carmilla must be mistaken. Why would Gille and Lord Sangre go to this much trouble just because Stregoni had been slighted?
Well, if it was a matter of upsetting someone close to the family – which he was, there was little point in being modest about that – then of course honor and appearances and all must be preserved.
Somehow, the thought was disheartening. Fool him, he thought viciously, for wasting even a second thinking it might be something more than that. Gille had not been outraged on his behalf that day Stregoni had mistakenly wound up at his home – he'd been mad Stregoni was there at all. He'd probably wanted to know who was the cause of the interference.
Finding out it was someone who should know better simply meant the matter must be attended.
Sighing again, he moved to his mirror to attack his neck cloth, frowning in annoyance as he tied a seemingly simple, but ultimately complicated knot. When the good linen lay as it should, he rifled through his meager collection of jewelry for a pin. His fingers lingered on the fleur-di-lis he had yet to return to Gille, thumb rubbing the glittering jewels.
Realizing what he was doing, Stregoni scowled and dropped it, then finally chose a simple jonquil made from gold and silver. Fastening it in place, he gave his reflection a critical examination.
He still could not see what about him first made Gille decide to toy with him, and he certainly could not see anything that would ever gain him what he wanted, no matter how hard he tried to stop wanting it.
Feeling as ready as he ever would, smoothing down his blue-gray velvet dinner jacket, adjusting his breeches, he finally conceded he was as ready as he would ever be. He hated formal dinners, but if Lord Sangre wanted to make a point about something, then this dinner would be formal in the extreme – just to make everyone uncomfortable.
Except, of course, Lord Sangre and Gille, who did it naturally as breathing.
The dinner bell had not yet rung, and wouldn't for some time yet. Anxious to keep himself occupied, lest he do something stupid, Stregoni headed for the library. Pouring himself a brandy from the small bar there, he wandered through the collection for several minutes before finally selecting a history of medicine, and sat down to read in the chair closest to the fire.
He was, thankfully, left completely in peace until the dinner bell rang a couple of hours later. Closing the book, he tossed back the last of his brandy and strode from the library.
Only to be immediately struck by the image of Gille in formal dress – all black and white and silver, hair pulled neatly back, drawing the gaze immediately to his gold-flecked jade eyes. Jewels glistened at his throat, reminding Stregoni of the pin he knew he had no intention of returning. Tonight's pin was a simple diamond trefoil.
Stregoni looked away before Gille could catch him staring, and moved ahead of him to enter the salon where everyone was gathered. He looked around the room, and his gaze mistakenly locked with William's. The bastard still looked the same as ever – too rich, too cocky, to be a real doctor.
He deliberately looked away, refusing to be more polite that was strictly required.
"Stregoni, there you are," Lord Sangre said, from where he sat in a large chair, making it painfully clear he was lord of the manor. "Lord and Lady Blackfield have been speaking of you. Blackfield, my lady, Doctor Benefici."
"Doctor," Blackfield said formally, if a bit stiffly. "We have come to apologize for the behavior we exhibited several days ago. It was unseemly."
They really were here because they'd mistreated him. Stregoni could not fathom it – the people he helped were often unpleasant. Everyone wanted an instant remedy, a quick cure, and fear often turned them mean and angry when they did not get it – especially when they knew there would never be a cure. It was part of his job. No one had ever really apologized before, not like this.
"Of course," he said. "You are worried for poor Tony. How is he?"
"Not well," Lady Blackfield said miserably. "As sick as ever, it does not matter what we try."
Lord Sangre stirred. "I am certain Stregoni can make time to go see him, if you are agreeable."
"Of course," Lady Blackfield murmured. "We were of course hasty, in our distress."
"Of course," Sangre repeated, but Stregoni knew the glint in his eye. "Stregoni, you could perhaps make time to return with them tomorrow?"
"Yes, my lord," he replied, hoping that the implied 'thank you' was understood.
From the nod he received, it clearly was.
"Gille," Sangre said. "Ring for the port and sherry. Elisabeth, my dear, play us something on your harp. Ah, Carmilla, there you are, and your brother with you."
Carmilla curtsied as she entered. "Yes, father. I waylaid Aubrey, and made him help me down the stairs."
Sangre nodded. "Lord Blackfield, my lady, you of course remember my son and heir, Aubrey. I believe you've met Carmilla before as well."
The introductions continued, and eventually William was drawn forward into the fray, to make his own apologies. Contrite as the words sounded, there was no way for Stregoni to miss the hate and rage that sparked in William's eyes.
Whatever had transpired since he had been thrown out of Blackfield manor, William hated him for it.
Stregoni murmured a polite acceptance, stifling a sigh of relief when William once more vanished into the background, and polite chit chat continued haltingly until the bell finally rang again, signaling that dinner was ready.
Lord Sangre murmured for the Pets to remain and enjoy themselves, then led the little dinner party from the salon.
They filed into the great dining room, which was lit with a profusion of candles in ornate candelabra, the table itself set with a good silk cloth, and more candles interspersed with bouquets of yellow lilies and peonies.
Of course he would wind up sitting directly across from Gille, Stregoni thought miserably. William was to his left, Aubrey to his right, giving him one ally against two foes – or a foe and whatever the hell Gille was, because foe seemed to simple a word for the way his stomach was roiling in misery at how devastating Gille looked in candlelight.
Swallowing, Stregoni fought an urge to down the contents of his wineglass in one go. His head was already spinning enough, thanks to the brandy from the library and port from the salon.
His attempts at making the best of the situation by conversing with William only earned him perfunctory replies. He was not stupid enough to try and converse with Gille, and so settled on chatting with Aubrey, whenever poor Brey was not locked in conversation with his father and the Blackfields.
As he'd known, the only two completely comfortable were Lord Sangre and Gille, who moved through the routines of dinner like hungry sharks. Carmilla looked vaguely amused, but also tired.
Stregoni resisted an urge to offer to take her upstairs, feeling guilty that he would use her as an excuse to get himself out of this miserable situation.
He stifled another sigh as the first course was finally served, barely hiding a grimace as William fumbled with the serving tray and utensils, nearly upsetting the whole thing. Normally he would sympathize, for he'd very nearly done that very thing himself more than once – but the bastard was not even putting a good face on things, and Stregoni was already half-drunk and gloomy. Let him suffer. He'd feel guilty for being spiteful later.
The food was, as always, perfect. He would never tell his mother so, but his favorite place to eat was right here – though he preferred the more casual dinners that were usually just he and Aubrey, sometimes Carmilla, very rarely Gille and Sangre, who ate at a different hour, or simply a different place. More and more often now, Ruthven shadowed their meals, and it was increasingly amusing to see how much the Pet affected Aubrey.
Unfortunately, such amusements were not available tonight, and Stregoni knew he was drinking far too much but could not be bothered to stop.
He looked up, far too weak to resist any longer, drinking in the sight of a man too beautiful and cold to ever belong to him. It was beyond his comprehension why he had what he did – stolen, midnight moments of wild passion, that damned moment in his apothecary.
Gille shifted his gaze, and caught Stregoni staring, and he knew the bastard was smirking even if his mouth was still curved in a polite smile. He could see it in the eyes, that Gille knew all too well the nature of Stregoni's thoughts.
Jerking his gaze away, he made another miserable attempt to get William to stop being such an ass.
When the whole wretched affair finally drew to a close, he could not escape fast enough, but bolted as quickly as his alcohol-addled limbs permitted to his chambers. His clothes had long ago grown stifling, and he stripped down hastily to just his breeches and shirt, shucking his buckled shoes and collapsing face down on top of his bed, too tired and drained to be bothered to do anything else.
He was jerked away by the sound of a hoarse scream, a shout, the sound of something breaking, crashing, and was out of his door before he was entirely awake.
The sound—his pace increased as he realized the horrific sounds were coming from Gille's chambers.
Just as he reached for the door, it flew open, clipping him on the side of the head as he failed to move quickly enough. His protests died in his throat, however, as Gille and Francois stumbled out, locked in some terrible struggle.
The smell of blood was strong, and Stregoni stared in horror as he realized it was because Gille was covered – soaked – in blood.
With another shout, of anger and pain and fear, Gille threw Francois off.
Stregoni recoiled, stumbling back, catching the open door to keep from falling entirely, as he stared wide-eyed at Francois.
The Pet was like nothing he'd ever seen – his eyes were wide, crazed, and he was smeared with blood from mouth to chest. As though…
Oh, god.
He looked down at Gille, who abruptly lay far too still on the floor. Just as he knelt, however, a snarl brought his head sharply back up and he barely threw himself out of the way as Francois lunged for him, scrambling to his feet as the Pet recovered and came at him again.
Letting out a panicked shout of his own, part of his mine still firmly with the unconscious Gille, Stregoni struggled to stay away from whatever the hell Francois had become – and ran straight into someone else, sending them both tumbling to the cold marble tile of the hallway landing.
He scrambled to sit up, and realized with a shock that he had crashed into William.
"What is going on?" William demanded. "I heard—"
Francois' wild snarls cut him off, and he stared in wide-eyed horror.
"Get up, get up," Stregoni said, standing and pulling William up – but William was frozen with panic, and Stregoni bolted away at the last as Francois came at them.
William moved, but too late, struggling against the crazy Pet, screaming loudly in panic, shrieking as Francois bit into him.
Then he tripped, and they both went tumbling back, all the way down the main staircase.
Stregoni turned away, not bothering to see where and how they landed, his heart hammering in his chest as one thought and one thought alone consumed him – Gille.
He lay far too still, and Stregoni saw immediately why there was so much blood. Francois had bit him hard and deep, and in the struggle which had clearly erupted, there had been no time to heal the wound.
Too much blood. Tears stung his eyes even as he moved to stop the flow of blood, refusing to admit that far too much of it had soaked into Gille's clothes, into the costly rugs.
"Stregoni!"
He looked up, eyes blurry, and could just make out the moonlit figure of Aubrey – and Ruthven, he realized, was just behind him.
"Too much blood," Stregoni managed. "Francois attacked him, but he's lost—"
Ruthven made a sound that almost sounded like a growl as he knelt beside Stregoni, reaching out to touch Gille, a frown etched deep into his handsome face.
"What in the hell is going on?" Aubrey said.
Stregoni started to answer, but his voice was drowned out by the resumption of noise from below, the voices of the others as they came to investigate the noise. He ignored them, unable to focus on anything but the man lying too still and pale before him.
"Master," Ruthven said, drawing Aubrey away from where he'd been talking with his father, Lord Blackfield, who vanished to go see what had become of the two downstairs. "Master," Ruthven repeated. "I can save him, but I need your help."
Aubrey dropped down opposite them. "What in the hell are you talking about?"
"Trust me," Ruthven said softly.
They stared at each other for what must have been an eternity, but surely was only a moment.
"All right," Aubrey said, voice just as soft.
Barely had he spoken the words when Ruthven moved, closing the space between them, burying his fangs in Aubrey's throat.
Aubrey let out a startled cry of pain, but did nothing more than cling to Ruthven for balance.
Ruthven tore away after a moment, then lifted Gille up and closed his mouth around the wound that was more on his shoulder than in his throat – so Francois had not quite gotten the bite for which he'd been aiming, but still…
What was going on?
Twice Ruthven repeated the strange process of feeding from Aubrey, then…whatever he was doing to Gille.
When he finally stopped, he slumped over with his eyes closed.
"Master," Ruthven said quietly. "I'm going to need to sleep for a day or two. Do not be alarmed. I think…his blood…poisoned…" Then he abruptly fell forward, Aubrey barely catching him in time to avoid crushing Gille.
Together they fumble awkwardly to separate the two unconscious men.
Stregoni looked down at Gille – he was still far too pale, but he was obviously breathing, and the awful wound was closed up. Nearby, Aubrey was just as intent upon Ruthven.
They shared a look, then looked away again. He should move Gille to bed, Stregoni thought distantly, but he simply could not muster the energy.
He looked up at the sound of footsteps, and saw Lord Sangre approach them, mouth draw in a tight line. Lord Blackfield trailed behind him, anger and guilt and shame on his face.
"Francois is dead," Lord Sangre said. "We can find no sign of William."
Stregoni shook his head, unable to form words.
"What's going on?" Aubrey asked. "Ruthven said something about poison."
Lord Sangre looked furious, but it was a still, cold fury – the worst possible kind, Stregoni knew. It was better for all when he simply lost his temper. When he got like this….
"I do not know," Lord Sangre said. "I intend to find out. How are they?"
"Fine," Stregoni said. "They both likely will sleep for several days."
"I thought Ruthven was fine only a moment ago," Lord Sangre said with a frown, but he held up a hand when Stregoni and Aubrey both fumbled to answer. "Explanations can wait. For now, let us get them to bed, then begin to sort out this mess. Brey, go find your sister and assure her that all is well."
Stregoni felt numb. "Francois is really dead?"
Lord Sangre nodded, then turned away to summon servants to begin cleaning up the various messes.
Let's hope I remembered everything that had to go in this chapter. It's hard to remember all the little pieces when you're in the thick of it.
Oleander
(chapter eleven)
(chapter eleven)
Stregoni was still trembling as he reached his room, and gave in to a pathetic urge to slam his door shut.
Gille had been smiling – really smiling – at Carmilla.
He was used to being jealous of Francois, though that had eased since their strange encounter. But Carmilla – what did she do to earn smiles, when he would give up everything he had for just one.
Pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes, Stregoni willed all thoughts of the bastard away, scrubbing at his sore lips, where Gille had kissed him just to enrage him. There'd been no tenderness in it, just a…feverishness, and he was so very tired of trying to unravel the mystery that was Gille.
Sighing, he began to strip out of his casual clothing, pulling out what he would need for a more formal supper – which brought him right back to thoughts of Gille.
Damn it.
This supper could have nothing to do with him. Carmilla must be mistaken. Why would Gille and Lord Sangre go to this much trouble just because Stregoni had been slighted?
Well, if it was a matter of upsetting someone close to the family – which he was, there was little point in being modest about that – then of course honor and appearances and all must be preserved.
Somehow, the thought was disheartening. Fool him, he thought viciously, for wasting even a second thinking it might be something more than that. Gille had not been outraged on his behalf that day Stregoni had mistakenly wound up at his home – he'd been mad Stregoni was there at all. He'd probably wanted to know who was the cause of the interference.
Finding out it was someone who should know better simply meant the matter must be attended.
Sighing again, he moved to his mirror to attack his neck cloth, frowning in annoyance as he tied a seemingly simple, but ultimately complicated knot. When the good linen lay as it should, he rifled through his meager collection of jewelry for a pin. His fingers lingered on the fleur-di-lis he had yet to return to Gille, thumb rubbing the glittering jewels.
Realizing what he was doing, Stregoni scowled and dropped it, then finally chose a simple jonquil made from gold and silver. Fastening it in place, he gave his reflection a critical examination.
He still could not see what about him first made Gille decide to toy with him, and he certainly could not see anything that would ever gain him what he wanted, no matter how hard he tried to stop wanting it.
Feeling as ready as he ever would, smoothing down his blue-gray velvet dinner jacket, adjusting his breeches, he finally conceded he was as ready as he would ever be. He hated formal dinners, but if Lord Sangre wanted to make a point about something, then this dinner would be formal in the extreme – just to make everyone uncomfortable.
Except, of course, Lord Sangre and Gille, who did it naturally as breathing.
The dinner bell had not yet rung, and wouldn't for some time yet. Anxious to keep himself occupied, lest he do something stupid, Stregoni headed for the library. Pouring himself a brandy from the small bar there, he wandered through the collection for several minutes before finally selecting a history of medicine, and sat down to read in the chair closest to the fire.
He was, thankfully, left completely in peace until the dinner bell rang a couple of hours later. Closing the book, he tossed back the last of his brandy and strode from the library.
Only to be immediately struck by the image of Gille in formal dress – all black and white and silver, hair pulled neatly back, drawing the gaze immediately to his gold-flecked jade eyes. Jewels glistened at his throat, reminding Stregoni of the pin he knew he had no intention of returning. Tonight's pin was a simple diamond trefoil.
Stregoni looked away before Gille could catch him staring, and moved ahead of him to enter the salon where everyone was gathered. He looked around the room, and his gaze mistakenly locked with William's. The bastard still looked the same as ever – too rich, too cocky, to be a real doctor.
He deliberately looked away, refusing to be more polite that was strictly required.
"Stregoni, there you are," Lord Sangre said, from where he sat in a large chair, making it painfully clear he was lord of the manor. "Lord and Lady Blackfield have been speaking of you. Blackfield, my lady, Doctor Benefici."
"Doctor," Blackfield said formally, if a bit stiffly. "We have come to apologize for the behavior we exhibited several days ago. It was unseemly."
They really were here because they'd mistreated him. Stregoni could not fathom it – the people he helped were often unpleasant. Everyone wanted an instant remedy, a quick cure, and fear often turned them mean and angry when they did not get it – especially when they knew there would never be a cure. It was part of his job. No one had ever really apologized before, not like this.
"Of course," he said. "You are worried for poor Tony. How is he?"
"Not well," Lady Blackfield said miserably. "As sick as ever, it does not matter what we try."
Lord Sangre stirred. "I am certain Stregoni can make time to go see him, if you are agreeable."
"Of course," Lady Blackfield murmured. "We were of course hasty, in our distress."
"Of course," Sangre repeated, but Stregoni knew the glint in his eye. "Stregoni, you could perhaps make time to return with them tomorrow?"
"Yes, my lord," he replied, hoping that the implied 'thank you' was understood.
From the nod he received, it clearly was.
"Gille," Sangre said. "Ring for the port and sherry. Elisabeth, my dear, play us something on your harp. Ah, Carmilla, there you are, and your brother with you."
Carmilla curtsied as she entered. "Yes, father. I waylaid Aubrey, and made him help me down the stairs."
Sangre nodded. "Lord Blackfield, my lady, you of course remember my son and heir, Aubrey. I believe you've met Carmilla before as well."
The introductions continued, and eventually William was drawn forward into the fray, to make his own apologies. Contrite as the words sounded, there was no way for Stregoni to miss the hate and rage that sparked in William's eyes.
Whatever had transpired since he had been thrown out of Blackfield manor, William hated him for it.
Stregoni murmured a polite acceptance, stifling a sigh of relief when William once more vanished into the background, and polite chit chat continued haltingly until the bell finally rang again, signaling that dinner was ready.
Lord Sangre murmured for the Pets to remain and enjoy themselves, then led the little dinner party from the salon.
They filed into the great dining room, which was lit with a profusion of candles in ornate candelabra, the table itself set with a good silk cloth, and more candles interspersed with bouquets of yellow lilies and peonies.
Of course he would wind up sitting directly across from Gille, Stregoni thought miserably. William was to his left, Aubrey to his right, giving him one ally against two foes – or a foe and whatever the hell Gille was, because foe seemed to simple a word for the way his stomach was roiling in misery at how devastating Gille looked in candlelight.
Swallowing, Stregoni fought an urge to down the contents of his wineglass in one go. His head was already spinning enough, thanks to the brandy from the library and port from the salon.
His attempts at making the best of the situation by conversing with William only earned him perfunctory replies. He was not stupid enough to try and converse with Gille, and so settled on chatting with Aubrey, whenever poor Brey was not locked in conversation with his father and the Blackfields.
As he'd known, the only two completely comfortable were Lord Sangre and Gille, who moved through the routines of dinner like hungry sharks. Carmilla looked vaguely amused, but also tired.
Stregoni resisted an urge to offer to take her upstairs, feeling guilty that he would use her as an excuse to get himself out of this miserable situation.
He stifled another sigh as the first course was finally served, barely hiding a grimace as William fumbled with the serving tray and utensils, nearly upsetting the whole thing. Normally he would sympathize, for he'd very nearly done that very thing himself more than once – but the bastard was not even putting a good face on things, and Stregoni was already half-drunk and gloomy. Let him suffer. He'd feel guilty for being spiteful later.
The food was, as always, perfect. He would never tell his mother so, but his favorite place to eat was right here – though he preferred the more casual dinners that were usually just he and Aubrey, sometimes Carmilla, very rarely Gille and Sangre, who ate at a different hour, or simply a different place. More and more often now, Ruthven shadowed their meals, and it was increasingly amusing to see how much the Pet affected Aubrey.
Unfortunately, such amusements were not available tonight, and Stregoni knew he was drinking far too much but could not be bothered to stop.
He looked up, far too weak to resist any longer, drinking in the sight of a man too beautiful and cold to ever belong to him. It was beyond his comprehension why he had what he did – stolen, midnight moments of wild passion, that damned moment in his apothecary.
Gille shifted his gaze, and caught Stregoni staring, and he knew the bastard was smirking even if his mouth was still curved in a polite smile. He could see it in the eyes, that Gille knew all too well the nature of Stregoni's thoughts.
Jerking his gaze away, he made another miserable attempt to get William to stop being such an ass.
When the whole wretched affair finally drew to a close, he could not escape fast enough, but bolted as quickly as his alcohol-addled limbs permitted to his chambers. His clothes had long ago grown stifling, and he stripped down hastily to just his breeches and shirt, shucking his buckled shoes and collapsing face down on top of his bed, too tired and drained to be bothered to do anything else.
He was jerked away by the sound of a hoarse scream, a shout, the sound of something breaking, crashing, and was out of his door before he was entirely awake.
The sound—his pace increased as he realized the horrific sounds were coming from Gille's chambers.
Just as he reached for the door, it flew open, clipping him on the side of the head as he failed to move quickly enough. His protests died in his throat, however, as Gille and Francois stumbled out, locked in some terrible struggle.
The smell of blood was strong, and Stregoni stared in horror as he realized it was because Gille was covered – soaked – in blood.
With another shout, of anger and pain and fear, Gille threw Francois off.
Stregoni recoiled, stumbling back, catching the open door to keep from falling entirely, as he stared wide-eyed at Francois.
The Pet was like nothing he'd ever seen – his eyes were wide, crazed, and he was smeared with blood from mouth to chest. As though…
Oh, god.
He looked down at Gille, who abruptly lay far too still on the floor. Just as he knelt, however, a snarl brought his head sharply back up and he barely threw himself out of the way as Francois lunged for him, scrambling to his feet as the Pet recovered and came at him again.
Letting out a panicked shout of his own, part of his mine still firmly with the unconscious Gille, Stregoni struggled to stay away from whatever the hell Francois had become – and ran straight into someone else, sending them both tumbling to the cold marble tile of the hallway landing.
He scrambled to sit up, and realized with a shock that he had crashed into William.
"What is going on?" William demanded. "I heard—"
Francois' wild snarls cut him off, and he stared in wide-eyed horror.
"Get up, get up," Stregoni said, standing and pulling William up – but William was frozen with panic, and Stregoni bolted away at the last as Francois came at them.
William moved, but too late, struggling against the crazy Pet, screaming loudly in panic, shrieking as Francois bit into him.
Then he tripped, and they both went tumbling back, all the way down the main staircase.
Stregoni turned away, not bothering to see where and how they landed, his heart hammering in his chest as one thought and one thought alone consumed him – Gille.
He lay far too still, and Stregoni saw immediately why there was so much blood. Francois had bit him hard and deep, and in the struggle which had clearly erupted, there had been no time to heal the wound.
Too much blood. Tears stung his eyes even as he moved to stop the flow of blood, refusing to admit that far too much of it had soaked into Gille's clothes, into the costly rugs.
"Stregoni!"
He looked up, eyes blurry, and could just make out the moonlit figure of Aubrey – and Ruthven, he realized, was just behind him.
"Too much blood," Stregoni managed. "Francois attacked him, but he's lost—"
Ruthven made a sound that almost sounded like a growl as he knelt beside Stregoni, reaching out to touch Gille, a frown etched deep into his handsome face.
"What in the hell is going on?" Aubrey said.
Stregoni started to answer, but his voice was drowned out by the resumption of noise from below, the voices of the others as they came to investigate the noise. He ignored them, unable to focus on anything but the man lying too still and pale before him.
"Master," Ruthven said, drawing Aubrey away from where he'd been talking with his father, Lord Blackfield, who vanished to go see what had become of the two downstairs. "Master," Ruthven repeated. "I can save him, but I need your help."
Aubrey dropped down opposite them. "What in the hell are you talking about?"
"Trust me," Ruthven said softly.
They stared at each other for what must have been an eternity, but surely was only a moment.
"All right," Aubrey said, voice just as soft.
Barely had he spoken the words when Ruthven moved, closing the space between them, burying his fangs in Aubrey's throat.
Aubrey let out a startled cry of pain, but did nothing more than cling to Ruthven for balance.
Ruthven tore away after a moment, then lifted Gille up and closed his mouth around the wound that was more on his shoulder than in his throat – so Francois had not quite gotten the bite for which he'd been aiming, but still…
What was going on?
Twice Ruthven repeated the strange process of feeding from Aubrey, then…whatever he was doing to Gille.
When he finally stopped, he slumped over with his eyes closed.
"Master," Ruthven said quietly. "I'm going to need to sleep for a day or two. Do not be alarmed. I think…his blood…poisoned…" Then he abruptly fell forward, Aubrey barely catching him in time to avoid crushing Gille.
Together they fumble awkwardly to separate the two unconscious men.
Stregoni looked down at Gille – he was still far too pale, but he was obviously breathing, and the awful wound was closed up. Nearby, Aubrey was just as intent upon Ruthven.
They shared a look, then looked away again. He should move Gille to bed, Stregoni thought distantly, but he simply could not muster the energy.
He looked up at the sound of footsteps, and saw Lord Sangre approach them, mouth draw in a tight line. Lord Blackfield trailed behind him, anger and guilt and shame on his face.
"Francois is dead," Lord Sangre said. "We can find no sign of William."
Stregoni shook his head, unable to form words.
"What's going on?" Aubrey asked. "Ruthven said something about poison."
Lord Sangre looked furious, but it was a still, cold fury – the worst possible kind, Stregoni knew. It was better for all when he simply lost his temper. When he got like this….
"I do not know," Lord Sangre said. "I intend to find out. How are they?"
"Fine," Stregoni said. "They both likely will sleep for several days."
"I thought Ruthven was fine only a moment ago," Lord Sangre said with a frown, but he held up a hand when Stregoni and Aubrey both fumbled to answer. "Explanations can wait. For now, let us get them to bed, then begin to sort out this mess. Brey, go find your sister and assure her that all is well."
Stregoni felt numb. "Francois is really dead?"
Lord Sangre nodded, then turned away to summon servants to begin cleaning up the various messes.
no subject
Date: 2008-06-30 05:57 am (UTC)