“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.