The Vampire King’s Captive

BRAN

It was like people had somehow heard Bran’s thoughts, that he planned to work on a future with Maria, and they-his enemies-had all set out to give him reasons why he couldn’t have it.

This was what Bran was thinking as he partially listened to what the man who had just entered his throne room, was saying.

“Can you just give me a summary of what you’ve been saying?” Bran cut him off, suddenly so exhausted.

What he’d woken up to as a bright, beautiful, day-a day he’d felt the happiest he had in a very long time-had turned into one of the most disappointing.

And it was still morning.

The man’s irritation was clear in his expression but Bran didn’t give two fucks. He was the one that was being disturbed. Bran was the one that was being asked to give away his fucking mate, not this messenger-who was obviously a sorcerer.

Speaking of,

“Who let him into the castle?” Bran asked the two guards standing by the wall, just now remembering that he’d placed a ban on the Sorceri entering his realm. “Who let him into this realm?”

The two guards looked at each other, then one spoke up, “I believe it had to have been the guards stationed at the gate, Your Majesty. As for him entering the realm, I do not know how.”Contentt bel0ngs to N0ve/lDrâ/ma.O(r)g!

Bran’s eyes narrowed in anger.

Perhaps he had gotten too soft with his men. Or maybe it was his absence that had caused them to forget a few of the rules he’d given them. Whichever option it was, the plan remained the same-he was going to have a long talk with them soon. One that involved screams, bloodshed and a few broken bones.

Just a few.

In the meantime, he turned narrowed eyes at the sorcerer standing in front of him, noting that the man looked not the least bit scared. Because of his powers, perhaps?

Bran almost laughed at that.

If the man didn’t tread carefully, then he was going to learn something today; that Bran wasn’t scared to go after anyone, no matter the kind of powers they had.

“Did you not hear that there is a ban on the Sorceri entering this realm?”

“I did.”

“And still you enter?”

The man shrugged. “You say the Sorceri is banned from entering your realm, yet a sorceress lives with you in this house so I’m assuming the ban doesn’t extend to all Sorceri. If that, however, isn’t what you mean, then maybe you should have been clearer.”

In a flash, Bran traced out of his throne-seat and appeared in front of the man. The sorcerer didn’t see him coming until it was too late-until Bran lifted his hand like a whip and sent the sorcerer flying backwards with a backhand slap.

Bran’s blood boiled with pent-up rage and frustration, and all he could think about was unleashing it on this man who had foolishly decided to make himself a scapegoat.

He traced to the man before he could even push himself up on his elbows, turned him over, and sent three hard punches to his face in rapid successions. On the fourth one, the man’s nose cracked, and Bran was about to land another one, happy to pummel the man to death, when he remembered-albeit angrily-that the idiot had a message for him.

Unfortunate, really.

Dragging him up by his shirt, Bran shoved him backwards, not wanting the man’s blood on his shirt. He didn’t want to have to explain that to Maria when he got back to the room.

It was crazy that that was what he was worried about a time like this, but there it was.

“Let that serve as a warning anytime you dare speak to a king that way.” Bran wasn’t even out of breath and the rage was still burning a fire inside him. “The only reason I’m not fucking killing you right now is because you have something to tell me-which I am not the slightest bit interested in hearing, mind you, but I cannot allow my precious time to be wasted.”

Before any man in the room could blink, Bran was sitting on his throne again, his fingers drumming on the armrest. “I assume you know better than to keep me waiting. At least, if you didn’t before, you do now.”

Hate bled from the man’s eyes as he wiped his bloody lip with the back of his hand. Eyes levelled on Bran, he spoke. “My master, Ariti, is offering a truce.” Before he could even finish, Bran already knew what it was all going to boil down to. “He apologizes for all what he has cost you and he wants to exchange your sister for the sorceress so that there can be peace between the realms.”

Whether or not the exchange took place, there would never be peace between both realms. His people would make sure of it. That, Bran knew.

“Did Elijah put you up to this?” Bran couldn’t resist asking.

There was no twitch in the man’s expression when he said, “I have no idea who your uncle is.”

Bran studied the man. He was a sorcerer and claimed to have been sent by Ariti. But could Elijah have a hand in it?

There was no way Elijah could have gotten in touch with a sorcerer and paid him to do something like this for a lot of reasons. Some being that, according to the Oracle, the Sorceri could not be made to do something unless they wanted to do it and another being that Elijah wouldn’t have anything to gain from Iris coming back.

It would only make the kingdom more united, stronger, and that was precisely what Elijah didn’t want.

Bran also didn’t believe that a sorcerer would lie on Ariti’s name-not unless they had a death wish-and this man looked like he valued his life. A bit.

“Tell your master that there is no deal.”

Words would never be able to explain how much saying that hurt Bran, but he had to. He was going to think, to plan and come up with a way to find his sister and get her out of there.

He would make peace with the witches and have one of them search for her just as he’d planned already.

He could do it. It would work.

He just couldn’t let Maria go. He fucking couldn’t.

Not when he’d seen what she could do to him. What she meant to him. He’d only spent one night with her-one fucking night-and Bran had felt the lightest and happiest he’d ever felt.

No war he’d ever fought and won had made him feel that way. No amount of wealth that he had achieved had ever made him feel that way and not even when he’d been crowned king had he felt the way he did when she’d been sleeping in his arms.

And he was expected to give her away?

No. That was impossible. There had to be another way.

Bran would find another way.

“Your Majesty,” the sorcerer grated out with great effort. No doubt saying those words was physically painful to him. “I must have not heard you clearly.”

“You did,” Bran stated, already pushing up and off his chair, ready to be done with the conversation already. “There will be no exchange. Tell that to your master.” Then to his guards, he said, “Make sure he leaves this castle and the realm.”

The guards sprung into action, each one gripping the man’s arms on either sides. The man was obviously very displeased by this but he wouldn’t fight them. Couldn’t.

First rule of being a messenger? Deliver the message and do nothing else.

“No exchange?” The man asked again and just as Bran began to wonder if he had trouble hearing or processing the words, he said, “Then prepare for war.”

With one last scathing look at him, Bran traced away.

He didn’t want to go to the room so soon. Not when he was so fucking angry and frustrated with the entire situation. His mood was not an approachable one and if he went back to Maria like this, he might piss her off or hurt her.

Bran didn’t want either of those things.

So he traced into the huge mass of land beside the castle, and ran.

He ran for minutes that turned into hours, then two hours and by the third hour, he was exhausted, his steps slowing until he was walking, strolling.

He had no energy left to burn and his anger had dissipated a great deal. He didn’t feel it anymore.

Wiping sweat from his forehead, he took off his shirt, squeezed the sweat out, and was about to put it back on when he remembered that there was an angel waiting for him in his room and going back to her in his smelly, sweaty shirt would be off-putting. So he threw it around his neck and traced back into the room.

She was not in the room.

Bran turned to stalk out and search every single room until he found her, when he heard a slight creak. Pausing, he turned back around and saw one of the most amazing sights he’d ever been presented with.

Maria, fresh from a shower, in a towel, with her damp black hair cascading down her back.

His angel.

Bran’s dick waved enthusiastically in his jeans, excited to see her.

She froze when she saw him, one feet in front of the other. Her eyes swept over him, lingering on his sweaty torso, and he could have sworn he saw a blush steal across her cheeks and travel down her neck.

Was she shy?

Maria? Shy?

He would believe that the day he saw pigs fly.

Her skin glowed from her bath, her face looking even softer and younger than it had been before. Hell, she was so bloody beautiful, he forgot everything else when he stared at her and it wasn’t until his chest started to grow tight that he realized that he was holding his breath.

He let it out on a sigh and almost fell to his knees with want when he traced in front of her.

Maria’s startled eyes flew to his face. “I don’t think I’m ever going to get used to your tracing.”

Bran hummed absently, following the curve of her cheek with a finger. “You are by far the most beautiful woman I have ever met.” Her lips parted, but no sound came out, only a gust of breath, and her blush deepened. “You’re blushing. How lovely.”

Her eyes darted away. “I… It’s hard not to when you say things like that.”

He felt the corners of his lips lift. “Then I’d better get used to seeing you blush because I plan on telling you how beautiful you are every single chance I get.”

Could her face get any redder?

“I need to find something to wear.”

“I need to eat you.”

Her astonished eyes flew up to his, wide and so fucking beautiful, it loosened the lingering tightness in his chest and expelled the remaining anger.

“I-You…” She opened her mouth, closed it and opened it again. It was fun to watch. “You what?”

“I want to bury my face between your legs.” He rephrased in case she hadn’t understood him-which he knew that she had. Dragging his finger down her neck to the valley between her breasts, collecting droplets of water as he went and dipping his hand in, he asked, “Can I?”

“Yes,” she breathed.

Bran had no idea how much he liked hearing that three-lettered-word until she said it. In fact, it might be his new favourite word.

And as he whipped the towel off her body, his shirt off his neck and traced her to the bed, he thought that she might be his new favourite meal.