The Vampire King’s Captive

BRAN

Today was taking the lead in being one of his most shitty days.

From the bar to the spineless sorcerer and now, to this.

Bran’s eyes followed his wuss of an uncle as he paced across the room, his mouth moving with his words. The man had not shut his mouth once since Bran came and Bran was starting to have a headache. Honestly, this could have been avoided had the man dropped a notice that he was coming.

Like the other times, Bran would simply have the guards tell him that he wasn’t around and his uncle, as always, would yell at them at the top of his lungs, before tucking his tail between his legs and storming back to whatever shithole he came from.

He probably knew that was exactly what was going to happen, which was why he didn’t bother letting Bran know beforehand that he was coming.

The sneaky little piece of shit.

His uncle, Elijah, swiped his hand across a surface. “Is this dust?”

Bran cocked a brow as if to ask ‘so what?’

“When last was this place cleaned?”

“I fail to see how that concerns you.” Bran delivered in a flat tone. He didn’t have the strength nor the will-or time to deal with his uncle today.

If only the man knew how to take a hint.

His uncle’s-might as well refer to him as Elijah seeing as his respect for the man dwindled with each day that passed-eyes flared in anger and he opened his mouth, but Bran, already knowing that his uncle’s next string of words would be ones he didn’t want to hear, cut him off. “What are you doing here, Elijah?”

“Am I not allowed to visit anymore? This is my castle as much as it is yours!”

“No, it isn’t.” Bran snapped, leaning forward in his chair-his throne-as he narrowed his eyes at his uncle. “Why would you ever just visit me? You only come here when it’s important and you know it.”

“Thats not true.” He had the decency to look appalled. “I have come here on-”

“I think you misunderstood my statement. You only come here when I require your presence.”

That produced the desired reaction from his uncle. His face flushed red with anger and his eyes flashed. If it were any other person, he probably would have attacked, but it was Bran and he knew better than to dare raise a hand at him.

There was no love lost between the both of them.

Bran used to look up to him when they were very much younger, but then after a while when Elijah’s relationship with his dad had started to get strained, they’d drifted apart. Bran used to find him bearable as long as they didn’t have to talk but now that his uncle had made it his mission to visit him whenever he thought he saw fit, Bran outright hated him.

Their once uncle-son relationship had started to die a slow death when he shed his sheep skin and started to make his hatred for Bran’s father, the king, glaringly obvious. Not many people knew, but Elijah was the product of an illicit affair between Bran’s grandfather and a lowly maid. He was kept a secret and never grew up with the family, although the king made sure that he was provided for.

Elijah was supposed to be the rightful heir to the throne, but the fact that no one could know about the King’s affair, disqualified him and Bran’s father, the child birthed by the queen, had automatically become heir.

Elijah hated Bran’s father simply because of this-as if it was his fault-and after several years of pretending that he loved them, became tired and his true colours began to show.

When his father had died, he’d appeared suddenly and of course Bran knew it was to fight him for the crown. If he didn’t know better, he would think that Elijah had a hand in the death of his father, but he did and he knew that his uncle didn’t kill his father.

Yet it didn’t make him any less dangerous.

“You think so highly of yourself, Bran.” Elijah’s tone was bitter, conveying his jealousy and anger.

Did this man never get tired? If only he would drop dead already.

“That is because I am high.” He barked, his decision to not let his uncle get a reaction out of him, flying out the window. “I’m the fucking king, Elijah, in case you haven’t noticed.”

Elijah laughed. An annoying sound that grated on his nerves as it did his ears. He took several steps towards Bran, a condescending smile on his face as he walked towards him.

It was then that Bran figured that his uncle’s aim had been to get a reaction out of him. To anger him. That explained why he was smiling like the cat that caught the canary.

Bran had to get control of the situation. Fast.

With an air of nonchalance, he leaned back in his chair, extending his fingers along the high arms of the chair. His uncle wouldn’t dare touch him. He was smart enough to know that attempting something of the sort would only end in his death.

Not only would he be charged for treason, Bran would kill him and dispose of his body without anyone knowing.

“Are you a king really?” His uncle asked when he was standing a few feet away from him. “Do you have any of the attributes that makes one a king? You’re on that seat because of only one reason; You inherited it. Other than that, you have no makings of a king.”

Bran’s blood boiled with rage, but he let it simmer, watching his uncle through slitted eyes as he continued to launch words at him. Words that hit their target.

“Do you think these people you call your people don’t see you for the helpless man you truly are?” His uncle sneered, taking another step closer. “They pity you. They don’t believe you can protect them and why would they when you couldn’t even protect your own family?!” He was breathing faster now, the force of his hate seeming to eat him raw and his voice rose higher. “The royal family killed by the Sorceri? The weakest faction of the lore?! You are a disgrace, Bran, a pathetic excuse for a ma-”

He didn’t have the liberty of completing his sentence because in a flash, Bran had tackled him to the ground and was squeezing the life out of him. Bran would have given him the beating of his life, but pummelling his uncle to death seemed wrong. Strangling him was way better.

Besides, Bran didn’t want to kill him.© 2024 Nôv/el/Dram/a.Org.

Or maybe he did.

At the back of his mind, Bran knew that the things his uncle had said weren’t wrong. His people pitied him and they definitely didn’t believe that he could protect them. Not with the way they looked and talked about him when they thought he wasn’t paying attention.

The words may be true, but his uncle had no right uttering them.

“Finish that sentence.” Bran growled and to contradict his statement, he tightened his hand on his neck. “Go on, I’m listening.”

Elijah struggled, his hands flying up to grip Bran’s hands, trying to force them away. To show him how worthless his efforts were, Bran squeezed his neck tighter.

“Cant talk anymore, can you?” He grinned, his eye twitching in time with his racing pulse. “I’m not my father, dear uncle. If you ever dare speak to me in such manner again, if I perceive the slightest bit of disrespect from you, you’re dead.” Bran pulled back a bit so as to allow him speak. “Am I clear?”

“You’re a failure.” His uncle choked, his eyes red-rimmed and filled with tears.

Well, let it be known that Elijah had his death coming.

Bran tightened his hold on his uncle’s neck and he watched with a feeling of excitement bubbling inside him at the idea of his uncle dying by his arms. Under him. Where he had been his entire life and where he was going to remain-even in hell.

Life faded out of his uncle’s body second by second and just as he was about to go limp, a body slammed into Bran from behind, wrenching his hands away.