The Vampire King’s Captive

BRAN

Bran never thought the day would come when he would witness the castle under attack.

The vampires didn’t have much enemies and even the few they had wouldn’t dare launch an attack on the king’s house directly. Bran was known far and wide for his ruthlessness and unforgiving nature-people knew better than to cross him. At least smart people did.

But perhaps he had underestimated Ariti.

Other than the sorcerer messenger he’d sent to strike the exchange deal with him-the one Bran had refused-, he hadn’t shown any interest in getting his daughter back.

Until now.

Bran was in the throne room having a discussion with the commander of his army when one of his men had rushed in, gasping and shaking with fear.

“What is it?” The commander asked, sitting taller, every fibre of his being now at alert.

Bran watched silently. He was now at alert too, but he didn’t show any reaction to the man’s sudden presence. No one would dare burst into the room in such manner if what they wanted to say wasn’t important. And that was the only reason the man was still standing.

“The castle…” He gulped in air, eyes wide. “Is under attack.”

“By who?”

“The Sorceri.”

And that was when Bran knew for a fact that he had underestimated Ariti. He didn’t know whether to applaud the man for his bravery or balk at his foolishness. But then again, Bran knew just how mad revenge could drive a person. It was for the same reason that he’d captured the sorceress in the first place.

“I’ll assemble the guards at once.” The commander shot to his feet, speaking to Bran. “We’ll fend them off, Your Majesty.” Then he bowed before hurrying out of the room, the man following closely behind him.

A sudden explosion rocked the castle. They were probably trying to get in but his men were probably putting up a strong front, so they’d decided to blow up the walls and force their way in.

Bran smiled grimly. The Sorceri wanted a battle? Then he was going to give them one.

He traced into a hidden room behind a wall in his room where he stored his weapons. From the outside, one would never be able to guess that there was anything behind it, but a plain wall. That was exactly what he had intended.

He walked towards the wall, withdrawing two sharp swords from it. He lifted one high above his face, until his expression reflected back at him from the sharp blades. He smiled. It felt good to hold these weapons in his hands again. It had been a very very long time since he’d used them.

Ever since he left the battle ground. Ever since he returned back home and took his throne.

A dagger was already shoved into the side of his boot because he never went around without it, so he took just an extra one and shoved it into the side of his other boot. Another explosion rocked the building and the ground shook underneath his feet. He almost put a hand to the wall to steady himself.

His blood boiled and a red haze covered his vision. That the Sorceri would dare attack and destroy a castle his grandfathers had built ages ago…

He traced into the battleground in a cloud of fury, swiping a sorcerer’s head off before he had even materialised completely. As he turned, his sword moved with him, taking the limbs of anyone he came in contact with, delivering blows that had his victims screaming in pain.

No one had ever met his sword and not screamed in terror. The frozen looks on their dead faces always told the tales.

He fought through the mass of bodies and despite the chaos around him, kept his peripheral vision focused. He saw when a person decided to attack him and gutted them before they could even come close.

It was in the middle of the fight that he realised that he had been so focused on fighting and getting the Sorceri out of the castle, that he’d completely forgotten about Maria. There were probably no guards by her door anymore, seeing as they might all be part of the fight.

His heart accelerated as he swiped through a throng of bodies until he reached one of his men, who was struggling to fend off a sorcerer digging a blade into his chest-with his power. Bran shoved his own sword into the man’s chest, twisted it, then pulled it out, relishing the yell that wrenched out of the man’s mouth before he collapsed to the ground.

“Thank you-”

“Get to the sorceress.” Bran yelled at the man. “Make sure she doesn’t leave her room and fight off anyone that tries to get in.” When the man slowly retrieved his sword from the ground, Bran snapped. “Go. Now!”

The man skidded away, abandoning his sword as he ran out of the courtyard and into the castle. As Bran watched him go, he realised that he was not the only one that was watching the man.

Ariti stood a few feet away from him, following the man with his beady little eyes. In a second, he turned to Bran and cocked a mocking brow at him.

Shit. Ariti heard what Bran had told his man.

Before Bran could move, Ariti sprang into action, chasing down the guard in an incredibly agile move for such an aged man. Bran ran after him, his heart slamming against his ribcage. If Ariti got to the guard-or rather, if Ariti followed the guard and found the room Maria was in, then Bran was as good as dead.

Ariti would take Maria with him and they would leave the same way they came. Chances of Bran breaking into the realm of Sorceri to steal her again were slimmer than zero.

Fuck.

He stopped running when he realised that he could trace. Sometimes, he forgot that he was a vampire. And it seemed like Ariti had too. He could easily trace into Maria’s room and get to her before Ariti did.

Before he left, he swiped his eyes around the place, taking in the level of damage. The high walls of the castle had been blown open in several places and he could see outside. The podium in which his great grandfather’s statue sat, was now cracked on one side, but thankfully, the statue wasn’t harmed.

Rage burned through him as he saw several of his men dead on the ground, blades protruding from some of their bodies and others, dead without injuries on them. The power of sorcery.

Hundreds of his men were dead. Men whom he’d trusted, dined and even laughed with once upon a time, before he’d turned into the dark man he now was. Some of these men had families, mates. Their families wouldn’t get to see them anymore.

Maria and her father would pay for this.

He traced into the room, catching her unaware. She’d been standing by the window, looking through it, probably watching and relishing the demise of his people at her father’s hand.

“Enjoying the view, aren’t you?”

She jumped and turned around, leaning back on the window frame and pressing a hand to her chest, the look on her face one of uttermost surprise. Her eyes roved over his body from his blood-smeared face to his feet.

Her throat worked on a swallow and she took a small step towards him, before halting. “W-what’s happening?”All content is property © NôvelDrama.Org.

“Father dearest has decided to take matters into his own hands and get his princess back.” He sneered, anger making the words come out fast and clipped. “I’m sure the news makes you happy.”

Her eyes darted to the window, then back to him. “I-”

The door banged open behind Bran and he swivelled on his heel in time to see the man he’d asked to leave the battleground and watch over Maria. His eyes were open wide and frozen in terror as he fell face down into the room. Dead.

Ariti burst into the room, withdrawing his blade from the man’s back. He looked up, his eyes lighting up when he saw his daughter, only for them to cloud with anger and fear when he moved them to the right and saw me in the room too.

“Weren’t expecting me, were you?” Bran clucked his tongue.

With a maddened roar, the sorcerer launched at Bran with his sword lifted high and gripped tight in his two hands. Too bad Bran was faster than him.

Bran traced out of the way and the blade cut through air loudly. Ariti’s eyes jumped to him and with a crazed expression, lunged at Bran again.

This time, Bran traced to Maria and grabbed her arm. “I’m afraid I have to separate you two again.”

Then he traced out of the room, Ariti’s frustrated yell following behind them.