Forever(38)

When he nodded, I began to laugh. “You can’t kill her.”

“Why not?”

“She’s too strong. Vampires aren’t any match for her.”

It was Flynn’s turn to laugh and he did – loud and long. With my head already pounding, my stomach turned and it was all I could do to stop from slapping his perfect, smooth cheek. Unable to contain my irritation any longer, I focused on Flynn.

“What’s your problem, Flynn?”

“You have no idea of what we are capable.”

Leaning forward, I narrowed my eyes. “Then tell me,” I spat.

He mimicked my every move. “Read my mind,” he ordered, emphasizing each word.

And so I did, as harsh and as violent as possible. He jerked back in his chair as I entered his mind, instantly breaking through his thoughts. The horror I encountered upon entering was devastating: Flynn had been forced into becoming a vampire.



As a boy, Flynn lived with his loving family in the remote hills of Northern Ireland. On a freezing winter night in 1889, a tall, pale man was found wandering the hills and Flynn’s kind father brought him home, sharing their meal and warm fire with him. That night, the tall man pulled the thirteen year old boy from his bed and forced him to watch as others invaded their home, kidnapping his mother and father and slitting the throats of his three brothers and two sisters. In vain he struggled against the man who held him and though the stranger was thin as a reed, his grip was iron and Flynn was forced to watch the killers drink the blood of his siblings. During the ordeal, he was knocked unconscious.

The frigid cold of the icy cave floor seeping into his chest and stomach brought him from the depths of his forced sleep. The taste of the stale bloody cloth shoved into his mouth forced him to wretch. His arms ached from being bound behind his back. As he began to struggle, he realized his feet were also bound. Pushing himself to his side, he craned his neck to search the area, and balked at the scene before him.

A giant fire loomed in the belly of the cave. Six of the killers danced around it, their capes and hoods flying about making them look like oversized vultures. Hanging by the wall of the cave, Flynn’s mother pleaded for her son’s life.

“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.