The Vampire King’s Captive

BRAN

“Your wounds are not healing.”

Bran already knew that when he saw the grim look on the man’s face, whatever he had to say couldn’t be anything good so he wasn’t particularly surprised when those words left the older man’s mouth.

“Yes, that’s actually why we requested for you,” Corey piped in like a smart-ass but the look on his face was a serious one. Solemn.

“The wounds are deep, yes, but they were stitched.” Ezra, the physician, said, sounding like he was speaking to himself. “Even if they weren’t stitched, they would have healed on their own but they’re not healing. His leg isn’t regenerating either.”

At the mention of it, Corey’s eyes dropped to Bran’s legs and a grimace flitted across his face. Bran fought against the urge to look, knowing that he would not like what he saw.

It had been three days since the incident, three days since he’d been caught in a grenade explosion and yet, his injuries were still wide open, looking exactly like they’d been that day and his leg still lay there, useless and embarrassing.

So fucking embarrassing.

Not to mention the unholy pain he was in.

Blood continued to pour from the injuries no matter how hard they tried to stop them and because of that, his bandages had to be redressed every five hours.Content rights belong to NôvelDrama.Org.

Bran was suffering from severe blood loss and pain unlike anything he’d ever felt. He couldn’t walk, could barely adjust on the bed and every single bloody thing he seemed to do only made him hurt even worse.

Was it blinking his eyes? Adjusting his hand? Turning his head? Name it. Every single thing hurt and had him gritting his teeth in pain.

When the wounds had gotten restitched yesterday, he’d barely been able to hold back his screams.

He couldn’t believe that this weak person lying on a bed the whole day, having people clean, feed and clothe him was him.

He was a fucking king. How had he gotten here?

If only he’d seen that grenade sooner and stepped out of the car, all this would have been avoided. But that wasn’t the only cause of his current predicament and Bran knew it.

Something else was at play.

His injuries weren’t healing. Instead, they were getting worse and it was insane.

Injuries that usually took Bran a max of twelve hours to heal, were now keeping him bed-ridden for three whole days.

Something was wrong. Very wrong.

And he knew he wasn’t the only one that thought that.

“I think magic might be at play here,” the physician said, pulling Bran back to the present.

“I’ve thought so too, but the people who did this have no access to magic.” Corey told the man from his perch on the couch in Bran’s room. “They’re humans.”

Frown lines marred Ezra’s face. “Tell me again what happened.”

Corey proceeded to explain what happened that day.

The humans were getting bolder. They’d ventured into several other realms to catch creatures of various species and ignoring the warning given to them, they’d come back to the demon realm to capture a number of demons-mothers and children included.

Corey had been livid. He’d grabbed his weapons and hopped into his car, but he’d been surprised to see Bran entering the passenger’s side. He wasn’t going to let his friend fight alone.

The humans must have been expecting them because they were heavily armed this time around and when they arrived, they launched a ton of grenades at Corey’s car. The car had gone up in flames and the door on Bran’s side had been jammed, unable to open.

It must have been the panic of the fire licking at his skin or maybe the general confusion of their plan being shot to hell even before they’d attacked, but Bran had forgotten momentarily that he could trace out of the car and what a crucial mistake that turned out to be.

“I broke him out but by the time I did, half his leg was gone and the glass from the windshield had cut him in several places,” Corey finished.

Bran squeezed his eyes shut, the words making relive the torment all over.

Ezra shook his head and walked over to his kit by the dresser, dragging his hand gloves off. When he was done, he closed the kit and turned back to the both of them with heavy shoulders and a wary expression. “You need the help of the witches.”

Shit.

Bran had been thinking the same thing since yesterday but he hadn’t said anything because he wanted to give it more time. But apparently, the more delayed, the worse he got and since the physician had washed his hands off him, there might be no other option for him.

“Do you believe they will be able to help?” Corey asked with a frown etched on his face.

“I fear they’re the only ones who can.”

With those ominous last words, the physician exited the room.

***

“Oh boy,” the witch whistled, long and low. “Wasn’t it just a week ago that I saw you? Sure, you had that annoying scowl on your face that makes me want to kill you as much as I want to jump you, but at least you looked loads better than you do now.”

Bran and Corey shared a look.

If he’d had another choice, he wouldn’t have asked Corey to call for the witch. She was terribly insufferable.

Her brows quirked. “Is anyone going to tell me what happened or are you guys just going to keep talking to each other with your eyes?”

Corey sighed and crossed his legs at the ankles, leaning against the wall as he relayed the incident to her.

Before they’d called for the witch, they’d decided to move Bran to the living room on the same floor in order not to have strange people entering his room unnecessarily.

“Huh.” She commented when Corey was done. “He definitely should have healed by now. Something’s not right. Can I?” She gestured to Bran, asking Corey for permission since Bran could barely open his mouth to speak.

Corey nodded, his eyes sharpening.