The Vampire King’s Captive

MARIA

Green. So much green.

And she wasn’t just talking about his eyes-even though that, too, stole her breath.

All around them were trees lined up in a great mass of land with a pathway in the middle. A pathway in which she stood with Bran currently.

Her heart beat a new rhythm as she took in the beautiful green trees, so very much like the eyes of the man standing next to her, and when she sucked in a breath, she could smell the freshness of the leaves.

How wonderful.

She turned to Bran and found him already looking at her, a very tiny smile on his face. Had he been watching her all this time? “Where is this place?”

The way he pulled his eyes from her face, it was like he did it reluctantly. “It’s just beside the castle. Do you see?” He pointed to a spot over Maria’s shoulder and when she turned, she saw that it really was beside the castle.

From here, she was presented with the beauty of the castle in its side view. She’d never seen it before, only having seen the castle from up front, and she had to agree that it was lovely.

“Is it yours?”

“Yes,” he stated simply.

Wow.

But she shouldn’t be surprised, should she?

He was a king and had to own a great number of properties. Yes, she knew that he was a king but she so rarely saw him as one. Not when he didn’t even bother with wearing his crown, not when he didn’t dress like one and definitely not when he didn’t order her around like one-well, except when he was being an asshole, which she now saw that he did on purpose because Bran really could be nice if he wanted to be.

“It’s so beautiful,” she whispered, without actually knowing that she was whispering. “There’s this feeling about it. It’s like… like I’m being welcomed by the trees.” She gasped. “As if they’re hugging me.”

Dazedly, she watched as a branch extended from the tree before their very eyes, and the leaves brushed her hair.

“Is there a ten-feet-tall, extremely flexible tree branch touching your hair or am I perhaps seeing things?” Bran murmured as though the tree could hear him.

Maria, herself, wasn’t exactly sure what was happening either.

Did she just watch a tree branch extend and carress her hair? As though comforting her, assuring her that she would be okay? As though praising her for all that she had gone through?

“I dont-”

The branch might actually be able to hear them after all, because it flew from her face and seemed to smack Bran in his before retreating back to the tree and to it’s normal size.

Bran’s eyes narrowed as he glared at the branch. “And why the hell did it just hit me in the fucking face?”

Maria smothered her laughter. “I think it’s angry at you.”

“Why would it be angry at me?” He was still staring at the tree, part surprised and part angry. “I don’t even know the bloody tree. Plus, it’s mine!”

The branch lashed out again and whipped Bran in the back, sending him staggering forward a few steps. Maria couldn’t hold it in anymore-she burst out laughing and because she saw the anger starting to grow in his eyes, because his light mood was starting to turn sour, she grabbed his arm and pulled him along with her before the tree could strike again.

He let her lead him away and discreetly as she could, she looked behind him and smiled at the tree. She didn’t know why it had comforted her, why it had reached out to her, but she’d loved the feeling.

She’d genuinely felt comforted. Like the branch had hands and was had actually hugged her.

Silently, she thanked the tree.

“Tell me about your childhood?” She asked him when they’d been walking for several minutes in comfortable silence.

His steps faltered for a bit, proof that he was surprised by her question. “There’s not really much to tell. What do you want to know?”

Maria shrugged, just now noticing that her hand was still linked around Bran’s. No wonder she felt warm, grounded. She loved the feeling so much and she hoped that Bran loved it too because, hell, it felt too good to let him go.

“I want to know how young Bran was like.” She told him. “There are no portraits of you from when you were younger, nothing at all to give me a clue. I was hoping you could paint a picture.”

“It probably wouldn’t be a clear picture. I’m not really good with words.” Then he turned a semi-smile on her. “How about I show you instead? All the portraits are lined up in a wall you’ve never seen.”

It took her a while to process the words because she was too distracted by that small smile. He still didn’t smile much-other than his feelings for her, not much had changed about him-but whenever he blessed her with those little smiles, she felt her world shift, then become right.

When she finally blinked and processed his words, a rush of excitement filled her. “Really? You’ll show them to me?”

“Of course,” Bran shrugged like it was no big deal when, from the tense lines of his shoulder, she could tell that this was, in fact, a big deal for him. “What about you? How was your childhood?”

Maria’s childhood had been the only time in her life when she’d been truly happy. Excluding her present, of course. And she was more than happy to tell him about it.

“Well,” she started. “I was this rebellious child with huge, crazy hair, always being where I shouldn’t be and not where I should be.” His smile widened a bit at that. “I used to sneak out of the house any chance I got and well, I got my nanny into a lot of trouble more often than not.”

He turned slightly to look at me. “Where did you go?”

“Nowhere really.” Maria shrugged, lost in the memories of herself when she’d been younger. “I used to hide behind trees, benches, eavesdrop on people’s conversations and sometimes, see this boy.”

Bran stopped walking suddenly and swiveled to face her, his expression suddenly serious, brows drawn. “What boy?”

Seriously? That was the only thing he was focusing on?

“There was a-” she stopped abruptly when she saw something on the ground a few feet ahead of them. “What’s that?”

“Nothing.” He cut her off without even bothering to look. “Now back to what-”

“Is that… is that a-” she gasped, heart growing in excitement. “A cat!”

Then she abandoned Bran’s hand and ran towards the cat, much to Bran’s chagrin.