Chapter 4 : Attractive Sorceress, Vampire Flees.

BRAN

“You have a call from Corey.”

Bran turned towards the sound of the voice. Edgar stood a few feet away from him, cradling a phone a phone in his hand.

Bran’s phone that was currently lighting up with a call from Corey.

He sighed, walking over to Edgar and collecting the phone from him. He had wanted to call Corey and let him know the status of things after the first interrogation, but apparently, the son of a bitch was turning out to be even more hot-blooded than Bran.

He wanted his own share of the Maria Hatzi. And he was going to get it.

If only the fucker could just wait and let him have his own piece first.

Bran had barely lifted the phone to his ear when Corey spoke.

“How’s the witch?”

“Still alive.”

“Is she still in one piece?”

“Yes, although not for long.”

There was a pause. Then, “You sick fuck. What exactly do you plan to do to her?”

“Hell if I know. What I do know, is that there’s going to be a lot more torture, and a lot less chit-chat.” Bran decided to answer truthfully.

Corey inhaled audibly. “We can work with that.” As if he had a choice. “Tell me how it goes.”

A beep sounded, singling the end of the call.

Bran shook out his hand, avoiding Edgar’s look as he tossed the phone back to him.

Torturing women had never been his forte, but for this woman, he would make an exception. She deserved every hurtful thing they would do to her. He planned on summoning the most experienced torturers just for her.

He loathed her with a vengeance that he hadn’t known was possible and she was going to know what it felt like to be on the receiving end of his wrath. She had brought it upon herself the moment she decided to even come within six feet of a Karras. Anyone he cared about, even.

What a coincidence it had been that she was also the one that had wiped out Corey’s entire household. She had blood hanging over her head.

And she was going to pay for them with her’s. But first, she was going to tell him where she kept his sister.

Determination fuelled his steps as he stormed down the hallways towards her cell. With each step he took, he tried to shed off the guilt he felt. He was not going to feel guilty for doing something that needed to be done.

He was not going to feel guilty for doing everything within—and outside—his powers to make sure that he got his sister back. Even if it meant going against everything he stood for.

Even if it meant hurting a woman.

He pulled the door open, damn near ripping it off its hinges in his anger. The damn thing needed to be changed anyway. It wasn’t his intention to alert people whenever he walked into the cells and that was exactly what the door did. Groaning like it was in fucking pain. 

This time when he walked in, he flipped the switch, turning the light on. The last time he was down here, he had not bothered to turn them on because they hadn’t been important. They were now. He needed her to see his face and to know that he wasn’t here to fuck around.

Not like last time when it had seemed like he was humouring her, answering her questions like he was on her payroll.

Light filled the room, drawing his eyes to the little lump on the cot.

He frowned as he walked closer to her cell. He had purposely deposited her in one of the cells with shorter beds just so that she would have to suffer and bitch about the bed being too short for her. So, how was it possible that her entire body fit into the cot?

She was tall. Almost nearing six feet, if not more. The bed was not up to six feet long. It didn’t add up.

The lump shifted and slowly, she sat up on the cot, facing the other side of the cell. Bran couldn’t see her face, but he knew that she was definitely pissed as hell. Over the pasty few days, meals had been given to her only once a day. Not that were actually meals when you thought about it. They barely took up half of the plate.

Edgar, his right hand man, and the person responsible for her feeding, had told him that she asked for a bath, which he had flat out laughed at. He wasn’t here to take care of her.

The only reason he was feeding her in the first place, was because she needed to stay alive for the questioning. After that, he didn’t give a fuck what happened to her.

“Hey, Princess.” He mocked. “Care to tell me how you’ve been faring so far?”

When she didn’t say anything and just kept on staring at the other side of the cell, his control snapped. “Answer me!”

“Go away.” She finally said weakly. “I don’t want to speak to you.”

Her voice was husky, probably from crying.

“Good thing you don’t have a fucking choice, then.” He snapped. “Here’s how its going to go, Princess. You’re going to turn the fuck around and answer all my questions.”

A minute passed, and just when it seemed like she was going to ignore him, she climbed off the cot and stood. He frowned, but before he could say anything, she turned around and faced him, effectively knocking the breath from his lungs.

Many things weren’t right.

For one, she wasn’t six feet tall anymore. She now stood at five and a half foot.

Second, she wasn’t a redhead anymore. In fact, there was not a single red on her body apart from the cloak she was wearing. She had dark hair, perhaps even as dark as his.

Third…

Third, was that the woman standing in front of him as a fucking knockout. And she was younger than the redhead he had initially abducted.

“Take off your cloak.” His voice sounded hoarse even to his own ears.

She hesitated, before silently reaching for the clasp at her neck and freeing it, letting the cloak fall around her feet. And, God save him, the moment she became bared to him under the light from the bulb, his knees weakened, threatening to buckle.

Full wavy black hair cascaded down her back, some spilling to her front and stopping at her stomach. She had pouty pink lips, the kind that promised to ruin a man, and a body that was made just to bring a man to his knees. In fact, had it not been for sheer will, he would have dropped to his knees and crawled to her already.

Bran’s eyes trailed down her spell-binding face, her elegant neck, her full breasts  straining against the T-shirt she wore that had his palms fisting and opening unconsciously, her taut stomach, wide hips, bare thighs in the shorts she was wearing and finally, her pink painted toenails. Then back up.

Involuntarily, he took a step closer to the bars. He wanted to know what colour this version’s eyes were. Before, they had been blue.

Dazedly, he realised that they were a mesmerising grey.

She stuck her small upturned nose in the air, staring down it at him. He was taller than her by far and yet, she still managed to look down at him. Did she think that presenting him with a body that looked like it had walked right out of his dreams was going to distract him from what he really came here for?

Forcing himself to regain his control—which proved almost impossible, Bran cleared his throat. “What do you think you’re going to achieve with this?”

When she merely gazed at him in confusion, he fought the urge to throttle her.

“Do you usually change bodies like costumes, trying to find the one that works for you?” He couldn’t hide the anger in his voice even if he tried. “Or did you do it because you thought that you could seduce me into letting you go?”

“I—Change bodies?” She stared at him incredulously. “This is me.”

He scoffed. Did she honestly think he was that stupid?

“Of course, it is. And the redhead? Who was that?” He cocked a brow. “Your sister?”

She shook her head. “Look, I’m not wearing anyone else’s….” She trailed off. “What are your questions?”

As if he could concentrate with a body like that in front of him.

“Not until you change back.”

“I can’t!”

“Well, then, you’re only prolonging your stay here.” He was already turning away and walking towards the door. He couldn’t look at her for a second longer. “Whenever you’re ready to change and answer my questions, call for me.”

With those last words, Bran fled.