“Please, let him go. He’s our only living child.”
Flynn wanted to throw up; his mother’s voice sounded garbled, as if her jaw had been broken.
The stranger his father had so blindly led into their home stood before her. “We have had our eye on him for a long time.” His voice was quiet, but the venom in it sent chills down Flynn’s spine. “He is special. We will take care of him.”
“Don’t hurt him,” she pleaded.
“Oh, he will be hurt and very badly so, but he will,” he paused, searching for the word. “live.”
Flynn fought against his restraints, kicking his legs back and forth as much as the frayed ropes would allow and finally, he broke free. His wrists weren’t bound closely together, and because of it, he was able to force his thin frame between his arms. Ripping the cloth from his mouth, he gagged as part of it pulled from his throat. Using his right foot, he began to force it between his hands and the ropes. All of a sudden, he was lifted to his feet by the collar of his shirt.
“Oh, no you don’t!” A cockney tinted voice whispered into his ear. It reeked of death. “You didn’t think we forgot about you, did you?”
The shirt dug into his neck, forcing Flynn to cough involuntarily. A strong hand shoved him into the light of the fire and the dancing vultures stopped.
“Master, I’ve got him.”
The tall stranger turned, his white skin shining in the glow of the fire.
“Bring him,” he commanded.
Flynn was thrust forward, falling to the man’s feet. On his knees, Flynn looked up at the one who gave the orders.
“I am your master,” the man began and Flynn shook his blonde head.
“I am no man’s slave,” he spat angrily.
“Hold your tongue, you rodent!” His tormentor with bad breath belted him across the head, bowling him over. When Flynn pushed himself to his feet, the Master smiled.
“He has much to learn. We shall begin as we always do,” turning his back on Flynn, Master faced Flynn’s mother, “with her.”
Dramatically, he stared at her a few moments longer, then turned on his heel leaving the cave. Howls of laughter and mockery ensued as the men surrounded Flynn and chained him within inches of his mother. When they were finished, they too, retreated, leaving Flynn with his mother and the short, fat man.
He cocked his bald head to the side. “My name is Stitches.” He ran a hand along the side of the crudely sewn indentation marks in his head. “I’m the one who’s going to break you.” His words were so delicious, he licked his lips.
Flynn looked to his mother, anxious to make sure she was still alive. His suspicions were confirmed; her jaw was broken and hung at a grotesque angle. Her eyes lolled about in her head and she seemed unaware of anything going on around her.
“Ma?” Flynn knew it wasn’t going to be of any use.
“We will begin right away.” Stitches dragged a large pot toward Flynn. Standing upright, he drew a sharp knife from his side. “This is for you,” his sing song voice made Flynn’s upper lip quiver in anger. “You are going to drain her.”
Drain her? What did he mean?
The confusion on Flynn’s face made Stitches throw his head back in a guttural laugh. He grasped at his fat belly. “Of blood, boy! God, you’re thick!”
“No!” Flynn screamed, throwing himself against his restraints. “I’ll never do that!”
Thick greasy eyebrows raised. “Really? Shall we bet on it?”
Reaching forward with both hands, Stitches pointed all ten fingers at Flynn. An odd sensation began in his head and Flynn shook it to clear it away.
“What are you doing?” Flynn shouted. When he wasn’t answered he struggled again, attempting to pull free of his restraints.
“Boy,” Stitches called and when Flynn looked up, his body completely relaxed. “Ah, there we go.” He flexed his fingers and Flynn’s arms moved involuntarily. “Good! Now I’ll untie you and we can get to work.”
Horror flooded Flynn, as he realized he no longer had any control over his actions. His breathing hastened as Stitches dropped his hands and walked casually up to him. Grabbing his wrists, the smelly man untied him and Flynn’s arms fell to his sides. More than anything, Flynn wanted to attack the man, rip his throat out and cut his mother down. Rescue her from this hell hole, get her to safety. But he was powerless.
“Right then, pick up the bowl,” Stitches ordered as if he were asking for potato soup at a tavern.
“No,” Flynn said, but his body moved to the large bowl and he stooped down, picking it up in his arms.
“Nicely done!” His words dripped with sarcasm. “Now put it under her.”
“No!” With everything in him, Flynn willed his body to stop, but it was useless. A cold sweat broke along his back as he straightened and stared at the pot he had just placed beneath his mother’s bare feet.
“Excellent. Here’s the knife,” Stitches held the weapon in his palm looking bored. “Take it in your hand,”
Flynn’s shaking hand did as it was told.
“Right, follow me.” He walked to Flynn’s mother and taking hold of the top portion of her skirt, ripped it away in one tug.
“Stop!”
“Now, see this here?” Stitches continued as if he were teaching class, pointing to the inner part of her thigh. “You need to cut here. Now I know you want to know why. The answer is because that’s where the femoral artery is. The blood will drip down the leg all the way to the toes in a nice steady stream, slowly filling this bowl. When it’s all done, we’ll have enough blood to last a day or two.”
“Go to hell,” Flynn cried.
Stitches face changed from boredom to malice.
“Cut.” He ordered.
“No, please,” Flynn begged, his young hand reaching toward his mother. When the knife pierced her ivory skin, she woke from her daze and screamed. Tears streamed down Flynn’s face.
“Ma, I can’t stop them! I’m sorry!”
Blood spurted across Flynn’s face and chest. With no control over his body, he was unable to wipe the droplets away. They began to stream down his face, mingling with his tears. Stitches leaned forward, cupping the fresh blood spurting from the artery and brought it to his lips.
“One day, you’ll find this more tempting than anything you’ve ever dreamed of.” He said before drinking it. Crimson lines formed about his lips and he smiled.
He walked past Flynn, leaving him standing in front of his mother, the knife in his hand for the entire night. That was the first time they broke him.
Flynn wouldn’t see the Master for three more years. During that time, he was forced to suffer the most horrendous torture a human could endure. Many times, if the vampires were not able to find a human to feed from, they would cut Flynn’s brachial or radial arteries, gathering his blood and draining him to the point of near death and then healing him. They would allow him a few days to recuperate and then expect him to resume their bidding.
He was their slave, doing what they commanded and when he refused, Stitches simply forced him to do it. By the time he was sixteen, Flynn had seen more death than any grown man could possibly handle. Several times he asked Stitches why they didn’t just kill him, and the answer was always the same.
“Master has a plan for you.”
More than anything, Flynn wanted to kill Master. Each time it was rumored he would visit them, Flynn felt a surge of hope that he might have a chance. But Master never did visit. He suspected it was because the band of vampires that held him were not what Master considered noble enough. Flynn nicknamed them the hairy unwashed.
Keeping clear of the major cities, the band of vampires stuck to the country lanes and killed as and when they wanted. Often, they forced Flynn to torture their victims for them. Flynn hated to do it, but he refused to cry again. He stopped crying after his mother’s death.
And then, on a rainy, bleak England morning, he was summoned. “Master wants to see you.”
&nbs
p; Stitches did not have the prettiest face to wake up to and Flynn often had to shield his face from being hit. This time, however, the smelly thing actually seemed somewhat submissive and he refused to look Flynn in the eyes. “Hurry up and get your coat on. We got a ways to walk.”
Flynn pulled himself from the frigid cot and sat up gingerly, testing the cuts on the insides of his arms. They had only healed him the night before and the pain was incredible. Dried streams of blood ran down his arms and off the tips of his fingers. They hadn’t even bothered to clean him up after he lost consciousness this time.
Catching his breath, he grabbed his shoulder gingerly, fingering the knot that had developed when one of the killers had hit him as he tried to fight them off. He always fought them off. He always lost.
Sighing, he looked around his corner of the room. The dirty apartment they’d purloined in the poverty stricken part of St. Thomas Camden New Town was the most disgusting place they had stayed in yet. Given the chance, Flynn would have willed himself into the depths of the earth. It was amazing he hadn’t become ill and died. Perhaps it was the anger in him – his wanting to kill Master that allowed him to live.
He stood, grabbing the ankle length brown leather jacket Stitches stole a year ago and pulled it over his shoulders. Even his back hurt. He was seventeen and already he felt like an old man.
“What in God’s name you doin’?” Stitches shoved his head in the doorway. “Move your arse or I’ll do it for ya!”
Flynn ran after Stitches down the stairs and out into the bleak morning. The rain pitted his face, immediately soaking his platinum hair. Keeping pace with his tormentor was easy now – he’d had just over three years and many beatings to get used to it. A carriage passed splashing a wall of dirty water upon them and Stitches stopped, cursing.
“Bloody hell!” He turned to Flynn, his face furious. “It’s not enough we have to walk in this rain, but now we have to meet Master with mud all over us!” He eyed Flynn’s white shirt, stained with blood from the feeding the night before. A trace of guilt passed over his face.
“Button up your jacket,” he murmured and continued walking. Quick as he could, Flynn did as he was ordered and followed Stitches. Not one more word was uttered between the two of them.
The trip to the wealthy part of Aberdeen Park, Highbury, took over an hour to walk, but Flynn didn’t mind. For once, he felt somewhat normal again. The buildings and scenery improved with each step and by the time they arrived at the doorstep of the stark white building, the rain had ceased and he’d nearly forgotten why they were there. Nearly.
The butler led them to the third floor and a door hidden behind a crimson carpet hanging on the wall. When two knocks from within were sounded, he slid the door to the side and motioned them to enter.
The room was darkly lit without a window to expose the dismal gray sky. Flynn took a moment to adjust to the darkness before focusing on a man sitting on an ornately decorated chair on the opposite side of the room. A long green velvet carpet led to the chair. To the side sat a heavy redwood side-table with a silver goblet in the center.
After a few seconds, Flynn recognized the Master. His heartbeat and breathing quickening, barely containing the frenzied rage within him. Stitches stepped away from him.
“Welcome,” Master greeted as if receiving old friends. “I have waited three years for this.”
“As have I,” Flynn chewed on the words.
“Careful,” Stitches whispered a warning to Flynn.
“There’s no need to tell him what to do.” Master stood, grasping the goblet. “You are no longer his superior.”
The statement surprised Flynn and he did a double take as Stitches hid himself against the wall, his eyes glued to the floor. Master snaked his way toward Flynn.
“Stitches takes his position a bit too far at times. But in order to break someone, well, I’m afraid I have to allow it.” He brought the goblet to his lips and took a sip, keeping his eyes on Flynn.
“What do you want from me?” Flynn’s voice seemed foreign to his ears.
Master smiled and crossed an arm under his elbow holding the goblet. “What would you do if you could see your father again?”
The blood seemed to drain from Flynn’s body and he felt light headed. “He lives?”
“Would you wish to see him?”
“Yes,” Flynn could barely speak.
Master handed Flynn the goblet. “He lives.”
“Can I see him?”
“Of course,” Master waved his hand to Stitches who disappeared behind the door. “Have a drink,” he added.
“Where’s he been?” Flynn shook his head, disbelieving.
“In a prison in London, but he’s alive and you can see him. I’ll bring him to you. For now, please, join me in a drink.”
Absentmindedly, Flynn brought the goblet to his mouth. The thought of seeing his father overwhelmed his thoughts and he had swallowed a mouthful of the liquid before realizing what he had done.
Flynn froze as his breath caught in his throat. Grasping the goblet, Master stepped back, a wicked smile upon his face. As soon as the liquid hit Flynn’s stomach, his breath forced itself from his lungs rapidly and he began to hyperventilate. The heat from the liquid intensified so quickly, he dropped to his knees and grabbed his throat with a hand.
The heat spread from his stomach outward down his thighs and calves, into his feet and up his torso into his shoulders and arms and fingers. When it reached his head, he collapsed onto the floor and writhed in agony.
“Painful, isn’t it?” Master mused, walking in a circle around Flynn. “You’ll thank me later for doing this, but I do remember the first time you experience the pain. Everyone does the first time they experience merblood. It feels like you’re on fire, doesn’t it?”
Waves of flames throbbed throughout his body and Flynn shuddered, wishing for death.
“It gets less painful each time you do it.” Master was truly unconcerned and paused, beckoning with a hand. “Ah, Stitches. Bring it this way.”
Groaning, Flynn closed his eyes against another stab of pain. When he chanced to open them, they focused on a body lying on the floor in front of Master and Stitches. Wrapped like a mummy, the person bound within the black material barely moved. A pale, emaciated arm hung exposed.
“If you want the pain to stop Flynn, you’re going to have to drink blood.” Stitches stated and with one bite, severed the artery on the arm. The person moaned, barely moving, indicating to Flynn that they were drugged.
Flynn managed to turn his head away and cried out as another ripple of fire coursed through him. Sweat mingled with the blood staining his shirt.
“I’m telling you, he’s not going to do it.” Stitches muttered and Master’s voice lashed out like a viper.
“Oh, he’ll do it. He’ll do it and he’ll join my family. ” In an instant, Master was at Flynn’s side, cupping him under the chin, dragging him effortlessly backward to the victim. With a nod, Stitches held the arm up and Master forced Flynn’s mouth open.
Despite being older and much stronger, it was useless. Though he gagged and spit the blood back at Master, the warm liquid found its way into his throat and when it did, it forced his body to relax.
“Please don’t,” Flynn gurgled, tears forming in the corners of his eyes.
Master bent forward, his lips against Flynn’s ear. “We need the powers you are going to develop.”
A heavy pressure crushed against the base of Flynn’s upper and lower cuspids.
“Very nice,” Master smiled approvingly and Stitches moved the arm away. “No, I want him to have more!” A menacing snarl replaced his smile and Stitches begrudgingly put the arm back. “Join the Farasi family, Flynn.” Master’s voice floated on the air.
Flynn felt his heartbeat slow. He closed his eyes and coughed against the thick fluid being forced down his throat. Heaviness dragged at the corners of his mind and he gave into it, letting it pull him down into the darkness.
“He’s going, he’s going!” Stitches alarmed words was the last voice Flynn heard. The last noise was his heart dying.
The heavy smell of blood burned Flynn’s nose; it dragged him from his death-like unconsciousness. His eyes immediately focused on the body lying in a pool of blood.
Alarmed, Flynn sat up, his hands slipping in the thick liquid. He brought a hand to his head, feeling through the sticky mess, and as he did, his shirt caught on the dried blood clinging to his back. Looking at his sleeves and pants, he realized they were saturated. Quickly, he pulled back his sleeves, checking his arms for signs of injury. Apart from severe scarring which he didn’t remember receiving, he was fine. His hands flew to his stomach and he pulled his shirt apart revealing pearly white skin and a finely sculpted chest and stomach, but no signs of injury. He was not hurt at all.
Disorientated, he stood, looking around the room, trying to remember what had happened. The room was empty, apart from a mirror which hung askew on the wall by a sliding door. There was something written across the top in blood. Flynn narrowed his eyes as he read the Gaelic text:
Sua vida comeza agora.
Your life begins now.
Instantly, the memories flooded his mind and Flynn staggered, his head reeling. Where had Master and Stitches gone? His hand flew to his mouth and he felt his teeth. They seemed normal. That being done, a lump formed in his throat as his gaze fell on the lifeless body on the floor. Who had been killed?
Kneeling next to it, he took the large gray hand in his and shook his head. He was sure he would go to hell for what had been done. The hand was one of a man’s – one who had worked the lands his entire life. Guilt and sadness washed over Flynn as he recalled the muffled groans emitted from the wrappings as Flynn struggled against Master. He was responsible for the man’s death.
Leaning forward, he began to unwrap the cloth from the head. There were several layers tightly encasing it and it took time to unwrap. When he finally pulled the last layer away, Flynn jumped back in abject horror. It was his father.
“No!” Flynn screamed, his voice taking on a life of its own. He scrambled from the body like a crab until he hit the wall. “Da!” He cried, his hands grasping at his head in terror as he tried to shield himself from the realization of what had happened.
Forever Page 11
