The Protectorate by Unknown

Author:Unknown
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

After putting the Ceni relic in a safe place in his room, Donovan headed downstairs. As he neared the drawing room, a light, tingly sensation stirred his soul. Simpson.

He recognized his valet's aura immediately. He quickly ducked into the library, reassuring himself the secret doors to the catacombs had shut properly. Certain that his secrets were safely tucked away beneath Dun Sidhe, he made a beeline down the main corridor and bolted through the open doorway leading to where he sensed Simpson's presence.

In the center of the room he spotted Conor Ashwood's body sprawled out on the settee. The man's right foot dangled halfway between the yellow and white striped sofa and the floor.

Donovan cursed to himself. By the looks of it, his good friend was drunk again. He turned to Simpson, who stood behind the upholstered piece of furniture. “How long has he been like this?"

"For several hours now. I didn't have the chance to tell you upstairs."

Donovan ran a hand through his hair. “Did he arrive in this state, or are we responsible for feeding his thirst?"

"My lord, I may not be in your good favor at present, but I am no fool. Of course the man arrived in said state."

Donovan bent down and placed his arms beneath Conor's. He gave a tug and pulled the man upright, forcing his friend to stir from a deep sleep. He tapped Conor's cheeks with the back of his hand. “Ashwood, can you hear me?"

Conor groaned.

Donovan looked up at Simpson. “Bring me a cup of brew to help him out of this.” He turned his attentions back to Conor. “Come on, man. I need you alert now, not dead to the world."

The vampire valet disappeared and returned in a flash, holding a silver tray with a single china cup. “I assure you, my lord,”

Simpson said, “This will do the trick."

Donovan passed the cup under his nose and then scrunched his face. “What the devil is in this?"

"A mixture of herbs and such. Cook swears by it, especially when he's had too much port."

Donovan raised an eyebrow and Simpson frowned.

"Very well, another matter for me to deal with at a later time,” Donovan said. He brought the pungent smelling drink to Conor's lips and ignored the man's waving hands flailing about in protest, gently forcing him to drink the brew.

Conor pushed the cup away after several full swallows. “Bloody hell, Bram. Are you trying to kill me?"

Donovan gave up a chuckle. “Hardly.” He sat back upon the oval coffee table and eyed his long-time friend. The man's face seemed to have aged drastically over the last few years. A pang of sympathy shot through him. “Tell me about your son."

"Please, not now."

Donovan nodded in Simpson's direction, motioning for the valet to take his leave. He knew Conor guarded the knowledge of his son's existence with great care, and he hoped that once alone the man would reveal important information needed to find the boy.

The doors to the drawing room closed with a soft click.

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