The Sons of Satrina: A Sons of Satrina Novel Read Online Free PDF

walked forward with a cordless telephone on a pristine solid silver tray and bent forward slightly at the hips to allow his master to retrieve it. Without a sound, Marshall then stepped back to give Bartholomew the illusion of privacy, whilst still being near if he needed assistance. Stepping outside the room, he was only a call away.
    “ Yes? Hello? What is it? Hello?”
    Bartholomew barked another ‘hello’ down the line and then looked at the digital black handset in annoyed exasperation. There was no one there.  All that had greeted him was a dead dialling tone. He despised the use of modern technology, but he also knew that he and his race had to keep up with the times.  It was a necessary evil that they had to endure. Not that he didn’t voice his complaints, loudly and regularly.
    “Dammit. Marshall! Get in here!”
    The liveried man rushed into the room.  “Sire?”
    “Obviously, it was important enough to interrupt me, but not so vital that they actually wanted to converse with me.” Bartholomew banged the handset back down on the tray, cracking the plastic casing and returning to pointlessly shuffle the papers in front of him. “Whom did they introduce themselves as when you received the call?”
    “Sire, they said that they were from the Sons.” Marshall stuttered. He was much older than Bartholomew and age was finally catching up to him after all those years of youth. It was slowing him down and affecting his reflexes. Marshall was eternally grateful that their leader had kept him in employment.  Without his work, he had no idea how he’d exist. He lived to serve.
    Bartholomew scowled up at him. “I gathered that. I more meant, who in particular was it calling from the Sons?” he rolled his eyes. “Well, don’t just stand there. Get them back on the phone and see what they wanted.”
    The Sons were the only ones with that particular phone number with which to contact him.  It was important to keep the lines of communication open between them. However, Bartholomew could not imagine what was so important to have them ringing so close to dawn.
    Marshall quickly backed out of the room and Bartholomew stood to stretch his legs. There was no point in going over the paperwork any further.  Everything was looking good for once. After all those years of trouble and strife, he was willing to luxuriate in the peace. Short lived as it was sure to be.
    Hearing a crash of glass from out in the foyer, Bartholomew cursed under his breath. What priceless antique had been destroyed now? You really couldn’t get the staff these days. No one had the manners or the pride in their work as they had in years gone by. Marshall was certainly the best of a bad bunch.  He was old school and very proud, but even he had his faults in abundance.
    Stretching out his back and hearing his spine crack loudly in response, Bartholomew strolled over to the large double doors made of rich, carved mahogany.  Throwing them wide open, he stepped out into the hall.
    Looking over towards the main entrance, his eyes instantly narrowed in suspicion.  He saw that the ornate stain glass window next to the front door had been smashed.  Shards and splinters of coloured glass littered the marble floor of the entry hall. Frowning in concern, he glanced about. Where the hell was all his staff? Where were his guards? There should have been two men stationed outside his office doors, as they always were. Wherever he went, at least two of his men shadowed him closely while several others watched over him from afar. That was the life of a leader – he had to remain in a safe, isolated cocoon.
    An annoyed growl vibrated deep in his throat and he strode forward to find out what the hell was happening in his home. After a few paces, he stopped dead in his tracks.
    There was blood.
    A lot of blood.
    Spinning on his heels, Bartholomew turned back to head towards his office, racing down the corridor. He needed to get the Sons of Satrina on the phone