Embrace

Aubrey shivered and drew his cloak more tightly around his shoulders, tugging the fur-lined hood up just a bit more, wishing home was not still an hour or so away.

He could, of course, simply use the carriage – but he'd much rather freeze to death, which he was quite nicely proving.

The wind picked up, making him grimace, but after three days of travel, one hour more would not kill him. Not unless the snow resumed falling, but thankfully the sky seemed to clear for that to happen anytime soon.

Sighing softly, he twisted around to examine the carriage behind, which was packed with the majority of his things. The rest would follow by wagon more slowly, mostly a few small pieces of furniture and crates of books, warm-weather clothing and other things he would not need right away. Those things he did require, or simply refused to be without, were packed into the carriage.

Including the dog rose he was bringing his sister, snitched from the school greenhouse. He didn't think she had a dog rose yet, though she very nearly had every rose known to the world and a few unique to the Sangre gardens.

He frowned, thinking of the home he had not seen in five years. His father, Lord Karl Bathory, Earl of Sangre, had not been pleased when his son and heir had decided to depart to follow his studies, rather than remain at home to focus upon the family estate.

His sister had been rather unhappy as well, though she at least had been understanding and forgiving. Still, he did wonder at his reception. He'd sent word ahead that he was returning, but received not so much as a single note in reply.

It made him nervous, even as it did not surprise him.

Sighing again, he took out his pocket watch and flipped it open, staring at the minute family portrait painted with meticulous care. It was old, a copy of the family portrait which had once hung in the grand salon, now buried away in the attic somewhere per his father's instructions. It was of his parents, himself at age four, and his sister at two.

Not quite two years after the portrait had been painted and hung, his mother and her Pet had been brutally murdered by bandits while returning from a trip to the little village near their family seat. He had, apparently, been with them. Aubrey did not recall it.

His father had often said that his lingering fear of being inside carriages came from that night.

To Aubrey's mind, it was also when his family had ceased to be one. He had vague memories of a much warmer father, though they were fuzzy and, he felt, probably all made up. The servants had told him stories of his parents, how warm and loving they had been, but he had never been able to match the stories to the cold man who spent all his time locked away in his bedroom or study, emerging only to find fault with someone and administer suitable punishment.

He wondered what his reception would be, if there would be any sort of reception at all, or if he would merely see his father over the dinner table as though not a day had passed from the moment of his leaving.

Was Carmilla all right? He had written her often, as well as Stregoni, but both had been annoyingly vague on the matter of her condition. Not wanting him to worry, likely, but all it did was make him worry that much more.

He thought again of the dog rose, it's vibrant pink petals, and hoped it was secured well against the biting cold.

The sharp tinkling of jingle bells drew him from his brooding, and he looked up as he came round the bend in the road – and broke into a smile as he saw who was ahead of him.

No matter how many years might pass, there would never be any mistaken the vibrant, chaotic mass of orange-red curls of Stregoni Benefici.

"Hail, stranger," he said cheerfully, shoving back his hood so he was visible. He laughed when Stregoni whipped around, the blue-gray eyes going wide.

"Brey!" Stregoni explained. "Well, I never! No one told me you were due to arrive. That brat Carmilla, she probably wanted to surprise me."

Aubrey attempted to smooth down his messy, light brown hair, moss green eyes meeting Stregoni's as they drew even. "No doubt, knowing Milla," Aubrey said with a smile. "So tell me everything, Stregoni. What have I missed? How is my sister? Father? My damned cousin."

Stregoni's face abruptly clouded, pain flashing through his eyes, before he smiled through it and recovered his levity. His fingers reached up to touch the pin nestled in his neck cloth, a beautiful enameled pink rose. It stood out bright against the dark cream stock, a lovely compliment to the deep forest green of his coat and the black winter cloak. "Your sister is doing relatively well, all things considered. I have put her on a new medicine, and I go today to see how it has performed this past week, see what adjustments might be made. Your father is your father," Stregoni said with a shrug. "Your cousin…" He grimaced, and again touched the rose at his throat. "Gille only grows worse with every passing year, I swear."

"I cannot say it surprises me," Aubrey said with a sigh. He had managed mostly to forget about his damned cousin.

Just days after his twelfth birthday, his cousin Gille had come to live with them. Why, no ever said. To this day, Aubrey did not know. So far as he knew, Uncle George was alive and quite healthy, though he had always been an odd recluse who never left his own estate.

Perhaps he was too much of a recluse to tend his own son; Aubrey simply did not know. Nor did he really care, as Gille had always been a brat with a bit of a mean streak, who strove to ensure he made no real sense to anyone.

Of the family, he was the only one who bothered to move about society, travel to the city every other Season or so – and if he wanted to travel, Aubrey's father certainly took no issue. It was only Aubrey's freedom to do as he pleased that Lord Sangre curtailed as best he could.

Scowling, Aubrey switched the direction of his thoughts. "Is there anything about which I should be warned?"

Stregoni winced. "Actually, there is – and it did not make sense to me until I saw, and now I'm afraid it is all too clear."

Aubrey groaned. "What?"

"Gille left two weeks ago on a trip for which he would not give details. Not unusual – but he returned yesterday with a new Pet, and said only it was not for him, but a present for 'someone special'. I should have known he was being an ass, but he sounded so sincere…"

Once again pain flickered across Stregoni's face, and Aubrey wondered at it, but it was gone so quickly he half wondered if he was imagining it. Even if he was not, he sensed Stregoni would not explain it.

Then Stregoni's words actually struck him. "A Pet?" he echoed. "Never say they have purchased a Pet for me."

"I think they have," Stregoni said, voice sympathetic. "Most would consider it a marvelous gift." He paused, then spoke again more hesitantly. "He's quite handsome…"

Aubrey grimaced. "I don't care if he's the most beautiful man on the face of the planet, I do not want a Pet." His mouth tightened at the thought of being saddled with a Pet. Not that he had any right to complain – as Stregoni had said, most would consider a Pet a fine gift indeed. Knowing his father, no expense had been spared in the acquisition, and while there was much fault to find with Gille, his sense of taste was not one of them.

No doubt the Pet was quite up to Aubrey's tastes, though how his father and Gille had known his tastes in such matters, he shuddered to think about.

Still, he had never liked the concept of Pets.

Pets hailed from a small country far to the south, originally. A strange race of human-like creatures that did not need food as did ordinary beasts and men, but blood. Human blood was best of all, though until they were sold they survived on animal blood.

This was because once a Pet fed on the blood of his owner, he ceased being able to drink any other form of blood. His body would no longer digest it properly. Once this new Pet drank Aubrey's blood, he would be required to feed on Aubrey or die of starvation.

Aubrey hated it.