The Vampire King’s Captive

BRANMaterial © of NôvelDrama.Org.

He pointed an accusing finger at her. “You told me that I was going to need her but you never told me that she would turn out to be my mate. How the hell was I supposed to know?”

“My words only breach the surface of what they usually mean and you know this.” A wisp of hair blew into her face and she pushed it back with a flick of her wrist-without touching it. “There is no point beating yourself over what has already been done. What’s that thing people say?” She tapped her smiling lips. “Ah. No point flogging a dead horse.”

“Fuck your idioms.”

She pretended he hadn’t spoken. “Now, my advice for you is this; look forward only, the past was only meant to shapen the future.”

A harsh laugh burst from Bran’s throat. “Really? Another one of your fucking cryptic words?”

But the oracle wasn’t smiling anymore. Her face had smoothened into its blank, neutral, almost vacant mask and her eyes had this absent look to them. She was staring at him but Bran had this sinking feeling that she wasn’t seeing him. She was in her head.

“Ignore my words at your own peril,” she said when her eyes finally focused on him, sharpening eerily. “Remember, Your Majesty, forward only. The past was only meant to give shape to your future.” Then she disappeared and Bran stood there, staring at the spot she’d just been in.

He forced himself to sit back on the couch he’d recently vacated but still, his leg bounced, his fingers drummed on the armrest and his whole body thrummed, vibrating with restless energy.

Maria was his mate.

Maria Hatzi, the sorceress he’d captured a few months ago was his mate. The woman he’d locked up in a cell, starved, almost cut her arm off, almost fucking killed was his mate.

His. Fucking. Mate.

What the actual fuck was that? How could fate be so cruel to him?

He shot up from the couch again and resumed pacing, his thoughts in disarray. He was so lost, so bloody confused.

All Bran’s life, he’d always known what was in front of him. He always knew his next step, always planned before going on a mission and always had a plan B to fall back to incase things went south. Always.

But right now, Bran didn’t know what he was going to do next. He felt so lost, so confused, like he’d been thrown into a battlefield without weapons or knowledge of what was happening and he had to stay alive no matter what.

Bran was lost.

So fucking lost.

He punched a hole in Corey’s wall and the wall cracked vertically, sand and blood coating his knuckles as he stretched them, welcoming the pain.

He did it again and again and again until his hands went numb and heavy and when he straightened his fingers, they almost protested, hanging off his palm like they were no longer part of him.

Abruptly, he traced into the bathroom in his room and went over to his sink, running his bloodied hand under the tap and watching the blood wash off, mixing with the water as it went down the drain.

The way the blood and water mixed, tangling as they drifted away had him staring transfixed. Two liquids that couldn’t be any more different, yet dancing together like they weren’t, blending into one. Whole.

Just like him and Maria. They couldn’t be any more different but when they came together? Fuck.

His eyes lifted and he stared at his reflection in the mirror. His colour had come back and he’d filled out nicely, looking now like he did before the incident. He’d fed enough to make sure of that and Corey had been there beside him to make sure that Bran got back on his feet.

It had been two days. Bran had never regrown a leg so quickly in his life and he suspected that Maria’s powers had a hand in it.

He groaned.

Fucking Maria.

What was he going to do? How was he going to deal with this?

He hadn’t told Corey that she was his mate yet because saying it felt so fucking strange to him. Hell, thinking it even freaked him out because what the actual fuck was that? How could fate do him so dirty? What had he done to deserve such cruelty from fate to pair him with her of all people?

Mating was supposed to be a good thing. It was supposed to fill one with happiness, excitement, and when he’d felt the mating pull the first time, he’d been filled with it.

He almost couldn’t believe that fate had paired him with such a delectable female, one that looked so much like an angel, until he’d stepped closer, his vision had cleared and he’d seen that it was Maria.

Of all fucking people.

He was the vampire king. How was he going to tell his people that he was mated to the person who had killed their beloved king and queen and had captured the lovely Iris?

He couldn’t. He couldn’t tell them.

It would never work.

Yet, the pull to go to her was so fucking strong, he could barely think past it.

He squeezed his head in his hands, trying to fill his mind with something else, finances, his kingdom, any-fucking-thing. Yet her face remained in his mind, clear and sad and so fucking beautiful, his heart ached, and Bran couldn’t fight it anymore.

Fuck. This. Shit.

Bran traced into her room, eyes frantic as they searched for her on her bed, but it was empty. He calmed when he saw her curled up on a couch beside her window, magic dancing around the tips of her fingers and she watched them, so taken with them that she didn’t see him standing there-at least that was what he thought.

He was surprised when her head turned and she looked at him, that purple light sifting around her fingers and a vacant smile on her lips.

Somehow, of all the crazy things that had happened recently, it was that smile that made Bran’s hairs stand on edge.

“Well, if it isn’t the vampire king.”