Dead Walkers: The Protectorate [Dead Walkers Series Book One] Read online

  Donovan turned to face the sarcophagus. Inside a similar marble tomb at his beloved castle Dun Sidhe lay his only reason for still living—his father's broken body. He had failed the man when he was ten and five. And not just by failing to save the girl his father had entrusted to his care, but by also failing to save his own blood. The dark lord had bitten him, tainting him with the evil Upyran essence. He wondered how long it would be before his soul took on his enemy's cause. For all he knew, he was now his own people's worst enemy. And never would he allow his soul to destroy the Protectorate. He had yet to find a way to regain his honor and purge his blood from the evil that now twisted it. Until then, Donovan feared, his father would never truly rest.

  * * * *

  Iceni ran the pad of her thumb over the relic hanging around her neck. The smooth contours of the ancient amulet forced her to recall her parents’ brutal murders and reminded her of the grave importance of the task at hand. She needed to get to Donovan Bramwell before it was too late, before Vastos had claimed the remainder of her peoples’ powers.

  Rumor among her nomadic vampire allies had been that the dark lord Vastos had returned from the Upyran realm to raise havoc in man's world and was once again up to no good. Now was her chance to avenge her parents’ deaths, to take back the lost section of the Ceni relic and make Vastos pay for his unspeakable crimes against her fallen tribe. But she could not fight the evil lord on her own. She'd tried to do so several times in the past and had failed miserably on each account. Donovan Bramwell was her only hope. Every vampire she knew spoke of the royal Celt with great fervor. He was the man capable of getting any job done. He was heir to the legendary Vampyric throne, the future Lord Protector of all Dead Walkers.

  Iceni took a deep breath and prayed a silent prayer to the ancient gods. She'd waited in the shadows, watching Donovan's townhouse for more than an hour now. She had repeated the same task every night for the last fortnight. Hiding in the trees and making mental notes of the man's traveling habits—when he left for his club, when he left for a ride to nowhere, when he returned. Even when he slept and when he woke. But tonight had been different. Donovan hadn't emerged from his home as he usually did after sundown.

  A knot twisted in the core of Iceni's stomach. The man had to eventually come out. He simply had to, for tonight she had made up her mind to finally go through with her plans of breaking into his house and forcing him to hear her plight.

  From her spying, Iceni had learned that Donovan kept to as much a mortal life on the outside as was possible. He mingled with his mortal peers and lived the lifestyle of a proper gentleman, befitting his wealth and his titles. Never once did he entertain the vampire in public. Convincing such a man to take on her cause wasn't going to be an easy feat. But fate left her no other options. She needed Donovan Bramwell's help in her fight against Vastos. And she didn't care what she would have to do to get it, even if that included committing a crime and seducing the future vampire king into helping her.

  Iceni swallowed hard and headed toward the house. A final survey of the surroundings would be best before making her move. She searched every window and every door, even the areas around the chimneys. Somewhere, she prayed, there had to be an unlocked portal or an open window. Mayhap even a crack in a wall. In bat form, she needed only a small space, the slightest of openings, and she could slip with ease into the house.

  The sound of a latch unlocking echoed in the night air. The front door opened.

  Iceni stepped back, hiding in the shadows of a tall tree. Her heart beat wildly, her pulse erratic.

  Donovan emerged from the house and stepped up into a waiting phaeton. The small carriage pulled out of the short drive and faded into the busy Dublin Street.

  Iceni knew she didn't have much time before sunrise and Donovan's return. She dashed between two open gates and continued her final search of the outside of the house. Somehow she would get in, and when she did, there would be no turning back.

  Chapter Two

  Donovan took the stairs two at a time and headed up to the fourth floor, hoping to finish his business with Magnus McKei before sunrise. Why his grandfather's solicitor chose an office four stories above street level, a place closer to the sun, he'd never understand. For the life of him, he would never figure out what made Magnus tick. For a quasi-vampire, McKei certainly had some odd traits.

  At the top landing, Donovan froze. He studied the area with a keen perception, allowing his preternatural abilities to take over. A single flash of waving red shadow illuminated his sight. Only one soul. He shut his eyes and chided himself. He really needed to stop being so wary of everyone and everything. The center of Dublin wasn't East Angliae, he reminded himself. And Magnus McKei wasn't the dark lord Vastos.

  Donovan took a deep breath and reopened his eyes. He adjusted his sight to normal, mortal vision, and glanced about the corridor searching for the entrance to Magnus's office. The vampire solicitor was famous for never settling in one place for more than he needed to be. And the man's latest choice of offices didn't sit well with Donovan. He hated being in unfamiliar territory. Several white doors fitted with small brass name plaques lined the hall on either side of the stairway. An ornate banister finished off the otherwise stark surroundings. Only the red patterned carpet gave the area a semi-warm feeling. Save for the catacombs, Donovan didn't like being in places so cold to the heart.

  A surge of Vampyric energy touched his soul. Donovan scanned the narrow corridor and found the one door that stood out from the rest. Magnus said to look for the painted door. What the man failed to say was that the door was painted red ... blood red, to be precise. A rather obnoxious choice for a vampire. Donovan turned to his left and headed toward the end of the hallway. He stopped at the entry to Solicitor McKei's office and took another deep breath. He rapped upon the door twice with a fisted hand.

  No answer.

  He'd waited long enough.

  Donovan turned around and headed back down the hall.

  A lock clicked, sending a slight cracking noise through the air.

  "You still haven't changed, have you?"

  Donovan identified Magnus's voice and cursed to himself. Stopping in mid-stride, he turned back around and faced Magnus head on. “Judging from the tone of your voice, I'd guess not, Mr. McKei."

  "Please, won't you come inside?” Magnus motioned with his hand, gesturing toward the open door.

  Donovan frowned but consented. Better to be done with it.

  He passed Magnus and entered the office.

  McKei closed the door behind them and flicked the small lock shut. He pulled out a leather-covered chair for Donovan and then took his own seat behind the desk.

  "The quasi existence seems to agree with you, Donovan,” Magnus said. “You don't look a day over thirty."

  He didn't look it, but he certainly felt it. “I've no time for small talk, Magnus. Why did you call me here?"

  Magnus placed his arms upon the desk and leaned forward. “Your grandfather has been turned."

  The news wasn't what he had expected to hear. The ancient quasi-vampire lord had finally been brought across to the world of the full-fledged vampire. “Who committed the deed?"

  "I was not present at the time."

  "I trust he's been given a proper resting place until his soul adjusts?"

  Magnus nodded.

  "Where?"

  "An undisclosed location."

  Donovan didn't like the sound of that. “Tell me the place, Magnus."

  "Your grandfather was a Lord Protector, a king of the ancient kind. His turning is very significant to the Protectorate.” Magnus paused. A veil of caution fanned his pale, thin face. Donovan detected uneasiness in the man. “I am not privy to reveal the location."

  He swore a silent oath. “Cut to the chase, Magnus. How does this affect me?"

  "You are now the new Lord Protector. The Protectorate is in your hands."

  He said nothing, a whirlwind of mixed emotions twisting in his soul.
Donovan rose from his chair. Crossing the room, he paced the floor. As his vision swept the room, in sync with his back and forth pacing, the deep red walls of Magnus's office blurred with the colors of the patterned carpet at his feet. The room seemed to be closing in on him. He couldn't lead the Protectorate. It wasn't possible. A burning sensation seared his neck. Vastos ... The bite...

  He stopped mid-stride. “And if I decline the kingship?"

  "You can't,” Magnus said. “There is no law for abdication in our realm. The only way out for a Lord Protector is to be turned."

  He didn't need this just now. He couldn't save a single girl, how could he protect the entire realm of Itycan vampires and their allies? “The Protectorate has done well enough without my presence all these years. I hardly think they need me now."

  Magnus sat back in his chair. A pensive look crossed his face.

  Donovan sensed the ancient vampire probing his mind. He shot him an angry glare. “Stay out of my head. It's a very dangerous place to be. Trust me, I know firsthand."

  Magnus backed down instantly. “The Protectorate needs you for numerous reasons. The first of those being Vastos has returned."

  The news unsettled him. “Are you positive?"

  "Yes,” Magnus answered. He opened a drawer to his desk and withdrew a small, gold trinket in the shape of an X. He tossed the item onto his desk. “Vastos pays his servants, mainly stray Dead Walkers, in gold pieces baring his own mark, an X stamped with a V for Vastos. Over the past fortnight, various members of the Protectorate, both mortals and vampires, have turned in several of these pieces."

  Donovan felt his heart skip a beat in alarm. He wasn't ready to face Vastos again. “What are the other reasons?"

  "The ancient prophecies."

  Donovan only remembered bits and pieces of the old Vampyric writings. “Surely, a man of your intelligence doesn't put much belief in the ancient scrolls."

  "I've studied them over the years. And while I don't agree with everything written, I do believe in the savior who will come and unite both kingdoms as one realm."

  Donovan returned to his seat. “My grandfather hailed from the Itycan bloodline. The Upyran vampire world has been at war with the Itycan's for almost two millennia. Why would a savior be born now?"

  "Rumor has it this soul was born back in the days of old but is only now coming into its own."

  Donovan eyed Magnus with caution. He searched the man's face, looking for something, anything, that would alert him to a lie. He found nothing. “What of this soul?"

  "He contains within his veins the blood of both kingdoms."

  Donovan let out a deep breath and slouched back in his chair. Now he had two enemies to worry about. He raked a hand through his hair and took a moment to gather his thoughts. “If the Protectorate can fight Vastos, then they can fight any other being."

  "They need a leader to guide them."

  A leader who won't fail them, Donovan thought.

  "Donovan, back during the days of East Angliae, there was a girl. A royal Celt who had been born to a mortal mother and a Vampyric father allied to the Upyrans. The girl's soul was saved because of her ties to the mortal world through her mother's blood. We, the Protectorate, had hoped for a union between you and this girl. But then Vastos interfered."

  "Yes, I know,” Donovan answered. “You concentrated on the mortal Romans, never knowing Caesar had been aware of the Protectorate's existence."

  Magnus nodded his head. “We made a grave mistake, and we've paid for it dearly."

  He didn't trust himself to comment on that note. Anger from the past still weighed heavy within his heart. An angry grudge he feared he could never forgive.

  "You must lead the Protectorate."

  "Or what, Magnus?"

  The solicitor's bony fingers searched a stack of papers sitting on his desk and pulled out a yellowed leaf of parchment. “The terms of your grandfather's will are very specific, my lord.” Leaning across the desk, he dropped the document and pushed it toward Donovan. Then he sat back straight in his chair, his back firmly planted against the tufted leather, and his intense gaze hovered over a pair of spectacles perched at the edge of his nose.

  Donovan wondered why the man still relied on his less than perfect mortal vision rather than using his vampyric sight. He surmised old habits were hard to break, and considering Magnus McKei was a stickler for refusing change, he imagined the man was a bit more than merely attached to his old spectacles. If only his glasses could help him see what was best for the Protectorate.

  "You must take up residence at Bramwell Abbey within forty-eight hours of this reading, or you will forfeit your rights to the entire Bramwell estate, including your beloved Dun Sidhe."

  Donovan folded his arms across his chest and offered his solicitor nothing more than a silent stare. He'd never give up Dun Sidhe. It was the one place his soul sought solace. It was where he'd buried his father's broken body. “What you propose is preposterous."

  "'Tis not my will."

  "No,” Donovan said. “'Tis not. But your influence upon it, I've no doubt, was great.” He cursed to himself and then let out a deep breath. He had no plans to ever set foot in the retched Bramwell Abbey again, even if it meant losing his bloody fortune. He'd rather rot in hell than take up residence in a building that held nothing but bad memories.

  "Your grandfather was no fool,” Magnus said, his voice stern. “If you intend to keep what you already consider to be your own estate, then you must abide by the terms of his will."

  "Truly you jest,” Donovan said with a laugh.

  The man eyed him with a serious stare. “I'm afraid, not. Dun Sidhe is part of Bramwell Abbey. If you chose to forfeit your right to the estate, the castle goes as well."

  "I understood the castle to be my birthright."

  "It is,” the solicitor said. “But not in the way you believe it to be. Bramwell Abbey is your birthright and Dun Sidhe is part of that estate."

  Donovan pinched the bridge of his nose. The skin between his forefinger and thumb tingled—it was almost sunrise. He hated mornings. “I need time before giving you an answer."

  "Very well. But you only have forty-eight hours."

  Forty-eight hours would be more than enough to move his father's body to another resting place. Then he'd be free of the Protectorate once and for all. Donovan rose from his chair and reached into his jacket pocket, withdrawing a pair of dark-tinted spectacles. He put them on before heading toward the door. “I will tell you, Magnus. At present, I am not all that concerned with leading our bloody realm. I will have to find good reason to accept my birthright."

  The solicitor reached out and firmly grabbed hold of Donovan's arm. “You know not what you say, my lord.” His words trailed to a whisper. “This is an ancient line. Your own blood ... the sake of the world ... everything is tied together. You are the Protectorate, sir. If you don't take your rightful place as its king, the line dies. An ancient dynasty thousands of years in the making dies. And...” He paused.

  "And what, Magnus? I die too?” Donovan smiled a sly grin. “Then in death may I be free. So be it."

  Magnus stared at him. A dark, sinister look crossed the man's face. “You have no idea what you are about, do you?"

  The man was right, Donovan thought. He'd give him that much. In truth he knew very little about the blood that ruled his soul, his world. “I fear my grandfather was not the loving, doting sort of chap. He told me very little of my heritage. And over the years, what I did learn I made a point to forget. Today, I am far from being anything like a true Bramwell."

  "Eventually, the vampire within will win. You can't fight it forever."

  No, Donovan thought, he couldn't fight the madness forever. But he had no intention of giving into it just yet. He'd watched his father die, and then he'd learned the man was abandoned in his greatest time of need. After that, he lost all respect for the Bramwell way of life.

  "Your grandfather did you a great service,” Magnus said. r />
  He hated when a fellow vampire read his mind. “I doubt you knew the real Angus Bramwell, Mr. McKei."

  "Away with the formalities, my lord,” Magnus said. “Let us talk vampire to vampire."

  "Do not call me that.” Donovan clenched his teeth. He wasn't vampire, he was branded, nothing more. His immortal soul was merely marked as belonging to the Bramwell line. He was a quasi. He teetered on the brink between both worlds.

  Magnus shook his head. “It would be much easier if you just gave in to it. Easier for all of us."

  Donovan didn't comment; he didn't dare say what was on his tongue.

  "The Protectorate, the Dead Walker society, is controlled by your soul, your blood,” Magnus said. “The sake of the world rests upon our actions. You are now the Lord Protector of our realm. Do you understand the meaning of such words? Your soul rises even above those of the gods of ancient times."

  "I am merely a thin line,” Donovan said, his words laced with a bitterness even he realized was a bit much. “A tightly pulled rope hanging in the balance between man's world and that of the undead. A god ... truly you jest.” He did not tell Magnus about Vastos's bite, about how he could turn into a dark lord on the instant, despite his lifelong fight for the good and the just. No, he'd never put the Protectorate at stake like that. The quicker the organization was free of him, the better off they would all be.

  Magnus remained silent.

  "What right do we have to play God in this mortal world? Tell me, Magnus. Who gave us such authority?"

  The man eyed him with a cautious stare. “Who is to say your so-called God did not deem it so?"

  A chill ran down Donovan's spine. He hadn't thought of it in that manner before. “If I am what you have deemed a god, then my word rules. And if I choose to abdicate my seat as head of the Protectorate, then you will have to abide by my wish.” Donovan headed toward the door. He turned the knob and made his way across the threshold. “When I reach my decision, I'll be in touch. Good day, Mr. McKei.” He never turned back.

  * * * *

  Magnus closed the door.