Chapter 4: Forget-Me-Not, Part 3

His father had visibly aged, but as always, he did it with dignity and grace. His hair was mostly gray now, but some of the light brown, exactly like Aubrey's own, still remained. His eyes were light blue, where Aubrey had his mother's moss green, and age had not diminished their sharpness. Unlike Aubrey, he stood tall.

Beside him was Elisabeth, as beautiful and warm as ever, a bright, welcoming smile on her face. Her black hair was swept up in a pile of curls and twists, decorated with ribbons and jewels, and she wore a dark green, cream, and gold dress fit for a princess.

The only person as tall as his father was Gilles, whose mouth was curved in a smirk that Aubrey had not forgotten during his long absence. Gilles seemed unable to shape his mouth in any other way. Of course, it could be because the smirk rather suited his cool beauty. Gilles was everything Aubrey was not - tall where Aubrey was short, fashionably spare where Aubrey was stocky, stunning where Aubrey had turned out merely ordinary.

Like Aubrey and his father, Gilles had light brown hair. He wore it long, however, and like now, it was most often braided, tied with a ribbon. His clothes were the very first of fashion, and like Stregoni, his cravat pin took the shape of a flower - a red peony. It was a strange contrast with his jade green eyes, the bold and delicate colors clashing...and yet on Gilles, the combination somehow worked.

Besides Gilles was François, as beautiful and fierce as Aubrey remembered. His purple eyes were intent as they landed on Aubrey, then slid to Stregoni and grew even fiercer. His short hair was a brown so dark it could almost be mistaken for black, save where the sun struck it and drew out hints of red.

"Father," Aubrey said slowly as he approached them. He gave Sangre a slight bow and welcomed the brief hug Elisabeth gave him. They had not started off on the best foot when Aubrey was a child, angry his mother was being replaced, but over the years, they had formed something like a stepparent and child relationship.

"Aubrey, it is good to have you home," Sangre said quietly, voice as level as it ever was, giving nothing away. There was no way to tell if he even meant the words.

Before Aubrey could figure out what to say, a last figure appeared in the doorway. She was the spitting image of their father, but with all the feminine touches. Only the fact she was weak and sickly kept Carmilla Bathory from joining society. She would take the world by storm, if only she was healthy enough to do so.

Aubrey moved quickly up the steps to embrace her and kiss her cheek. "Milla, it is good to see you again."

"Brey, you're home," Carmilla said, kissing his cheeks, squeezing him tightly. "It's so good to have you back."

He hugged her again, and held fast as he turned to greet the servants and accept their expression of excitement and pleasure at his return. Finally he faced his father and Gilles again.

"Cousin," Gilles said, still smirking. "I see you brought the good doctor with you." His eyes slid briefly to Stregoni, standing silent nearby, then slid back to Aubrey. "We have a gift for you."

"So I heard," Aubrey said. "I do not want him."

"One does not refuse gifts," Sangre replied, face and tone implacable, but somehow Aubrey knew the matter was over before it had begun. He would accept the Pet, and that was that.

Stifling an urge to mount his horse and run away again, he allowed Carmilla to lead him into the house.

Inside, it had scarcely changed at all. The paintings, the marble floor and costly rugs, the crystal hanging from the ceiling...little things were gone, replaced by others, but the overall affect was as though he had not been gone more than an afternoon.

Nearby stood an unfamiliar figure.

The Pet was beautiful, there was no denying that. His hair was the color of beeswax, cropped extremely short and seemingly fine, delicate wisps of it clinging to his cheeks and forehead. His skin was smooth and flawless, and ever so faintly sun-kissed, lending a further impression of warmth.

By stark contrast, his eyes were so dark, Aubrey could not tell their color. He was also dressed head to foot in black. Severe, but he wore it well. The oddest thing about his appearance was that he wore no neck cloth. Instead, a startling amount of skin was bare, though much of it was covered by a collar. They'd been a popular affectation foisted on Pets once, but Aubrey had not seen one since he was a boy. Neither Elisabeth nor François had ever worn them.

Perhaps in jest, affixed to the black leather collar was a pin. Flowers must be in fashion, for like Stregoni and Gilles, the Pet's pin was in the shape of a flower: a vibrant, beautiful blue forget-me-not.

The Pet stepped forward and sketched a deep, elegant bow, not quite rising as he lifted his head to look at Aubrey.

Even this close, Aubrey could not tell the color of the Pet's eyes. They looked almost black, except he could see the pupil's quite clearly.

Aubrey realized he wasn't breathing. Shaking himself, he stepped forward.

"Master," the Pet murmured.

"What is your name?" Aubrey asked. If he was going to have a Pet, then he may as well accept it with dignity. He had learned the hard and painful way that making a scene only hurt himself.

The Pet smiled faintly. "Ruthven, Master."

"Ruthven," Aubrey repeated. "You must already know I am Aubrey."

"Yes, Master."

Aubrey nodded and extended his right arm, wrist up. "Welcome, then."

"I thank you, Master," Ruthven murmured, and for a moment, something hot and bright flared in his dark eyes. It made Aubrey shiver, though he could not put a name to what it was he had seen.

Then his wrist was taken up in one gloved hand, the black satin warm against his cold skin. He shivered again as he caught a hint of the long, sharp fangs, and bit back a cry of pain as they sank into his skin.

It was the strangest sensation, and not one to which he would ever grow accustomed. Only humans would ever decide it was fashionable to have their blood sucked.

As easy that, he was responsible for the life of another. If he died, so too would Ruthven. He stood immobile as Ruthven finally rose to his full height, licking blood from his lips. What was he supposed to say or do now?

"Thank you, father," he said stiffly after the silence stretched on.

"Gilles picked him out," Sangre replied, coming up to stand beside Aubrey, eyes on Ruthven. "He is lovely. Suitable?"

The question was rhetorical, but Aubrey nodded in reply anyway. He looked at Gilles, but did not offer any thanks. From the expression on Gilles's face, he had not expected any.

A bell rang, and Sangre held an arm out to Elisabeth. "Come, dinner is ready. We will eat as a proper family for the first time in too long."

It was a rebuke, as well as a tacit order that Aubrey would not be permitted to leave home again.

"Home, sweet home," Aubrey muttered to himself, then gave Carmilla his arm and followed Sangre to the dining room.