All Chapters of A TASTE FOR BLOOD : Chapter 61
- Chapter 70
72 chapters
THOSE HE LEFT ALIVE
1. The One He BuriedThe private jet cut smoothly through the clouds, its cabin dim except for the glow of a single screen.Aurelian Kade sat alone, jacket discarded, sleeves rolled back to reveal scars that never faded no matter how much time passed. Old burns. Old restraints. Proof of survival.The broadcast played silently.Dominic Monaghan stood beneath chandeliers and cameras, glass raised, voice steady and certain. The kind of certainty that came from never having to doubt loyalty—or consequence.Aurelian watched without blinking.The camera lingered on Diego.Too still. Too pale. Too controlled.Aurelian’s jaw tightened.Dominic had once called him brother—said it with pride, with wine between them and ambition in their throats. They had ruled together once, divided territory, built alliances.Until Dominic decided Aurelian was inconvenient.Too principled. Too visible. Too unwilling to sacrifice his own people.The memory burned sharp.The coven summoned under false pretenses.
FAULT LINE
Dominic Monaghan did not sleep that night.He stood alone in his study long after the guests had gone, the mansion returned to its polished silence. The walls were lined with glass and steel, screens embedded seamlessly between art and architecture—news feeds looping the same images over and over.His image. His son. His empire.On the surface, it was perfection.Dominic watched the footage without sound. He didn’t need it. He knew every word he had spoken, every pause, every calculated smile.What unsettled him wasn’t what he saw.It was what he hadn’t anticipated.He turned toward the security wall. “Lock the perimeter,” he said quietly.The command center responded instantly. Gates sealed. Access codes rotated. Surveillance protocols escalated from passive to aggressive.“Internal audits,” Dominic continued. “Every division. Every subsidiary. I want discrepancies flagged within the hour.”“Yes, sir.”Dominic’s fingers flexed once at his side.He hadn’t built his empire by ignoring
PRESSURE POINTS
lThe first report reached Dominic before dawn.Not dramatic.Not alarming.Just… irregular.A minor logistics delay in one of his eastern distribution routes. A missed check-in from a security contractor who had never missed one before. A payment that cleared late by exactly twelve minutes.Dominic stared at the data on his tablet, unmoving.Twelve minutes wasn’t an accident.It was a message.He tapped the screen once.“Trace the failure,” he said. “Quietly.”“Yes, sir.”He set the tablet aside and looked out over the city from the tall windows of his study. From this height, the streets looked orderly. Predictable.But Dominic knew better.Rhett didn’t strike centers.He dismantled supports.Lucian would be harder to track—more patient, more surgical—but Rhett was already moving. Dominic could feel it in the way the city’s rhythm had changed.Good.He preferred enemies who revealed themselves.---The training room smelled like iron and disinfectant.Diego stood barefoot on the cold
CONDITIONING
The training chamber was buried deep beneath the mansion.No windows.No cameras visible.Just steel walls, reinforced flooring, and lights calibrated to never fully dim.Dominic believed shadows invited thought.Diego stood at the center of the room, barefoot, shirtless, every muscle already tight with anticipation. His breathing was controlled—not calm, but practiced.Across from him, three men waited.Not guards.Handlers.They wore neutral expressions, bodies relaxed in the way of people trained to endure violence without reacting to it.Dominic observed from behind the glass.“Begin,” he said.The first strike came without warning.A baton slammed into Diego’s ribs. He staggered but didn’t fall. He clenched his jaw, eyes fixed forward.“Again,” Dominic ordered.Another blow. Then another.Diego absorbed them, breath sharp but measured. He didn’t retaliate. That wasn’t the lesson.Control was.Minutes passed. Sweat ran down his spine. His hands trembled—not from pain, but restrain
THE EDGE OF CONTROL
The mansion woke before dawn.Not with light—but with movement.Security systems cycled through new protocols. Corridors sealed and reopened in precise patterns. Guards rotated silently, eyes sharp, hands never far from their weapons.Dominic Monaghan stood outside Diego’s room, listening.Inside, Diego paced.Bare feet against marble. Measured steps. Controlled breathing. The rhythm Dominic had drilled into him until it replaced instinct.Twelve steps. Turn. Twelve back.Control lived in repetition.Dominic activated the glass.“Report,” he said.Diego stopped instantly.“No loss of awareness,” Diego said. “No uncontrolled surge.”A pause.Then, quieter: “I can feel it. The change.”Dominic entered the room.“That’s improvement,” he said. “You’re no longer reacting. You’re anticipating.”He circled Diego slowly, watching posture, muscle tension, eye focus.“You remember what happened the first time,” Dominic said.Diego’s jaw tightened.Blood. Noise. The moment everything slipped—an
PRESSURE POINTS
Morning crept into the city like a cautious intruder.Not sunlight—movement.Traffic resumed in careful waves. Office lights flickered on floor by floor. People stepped back into routines they trusted would protect them. The illusion of normalcy slid into place with practiced ease.From the upper level of the Monaghan mansion, Dominic Monaghan watched it all unfold.The glass walls of his private observation gallery reflected the city back at itself—orderly, structured, obedient. From here, the streets looked like arteries feeding a body he had built and maintained for decades.Alive because he allowed it to be.“Status,” Dominic said without turning.Behind him, screens adjusted instantly. Data flowed—security reports, financial movements, internal communications. Nothing alarming. Nothing obvious.That, more than anything, irritated him.“All systems operational,” a voice replied through the wall interface. “No breaches. No external threats detected.”Dominic clasped his hands beh
GATHERING PRESSURE
The city kept moving.People crossed streets. Trains ran on time. Screens flashed headlines that meant nothing to the ones who mattered.Dominic Monaghan returned to his study without a word to anyone.The door sealed behind him with a muted click.Raphael’s voice still lingered in his mind—not loud, not threatening. Worse.Certain.Dominic set his phone down slowly, eyes narrowing as systems recalibrated around him. Security feeds shifted. Patrol routes updated. Names surfaced on internal lists—old ones. Forgotten ones.Blood that believed it was owed something.“Find him,” Dominic said quietly into the room. “I don’t care where he’s been hiding.”The system acknowledged.Raphael had always been dangerous—not because he was reckless, but because he understood restraint. Because he knew when not to move.And now he had.Dominic’s jaw tightened.Too many pressure points were activating at once.That never happened by accident.Leo stood alone in the main hall long after Dominic disapp
BLIND ANGLES
The city kept moving.People crossed streets. Trains ran on time. Screens flashed headlines that meant nothing to the ones who mattered. Routine wrapped itself around the city like armor, convincing everyone that structure meant safety.Dominic Monaghan returned to his study without a word to anyone. The door sealed behind him with a muted click, shutting out the rest of the mansion.Raphael’s voice still lingered in his mind—not loud, not threatening.Worse.Certain.Dominic set his phone down slowly as systems recalibrated around him. Security feeds shifted. Patrol routes updated. Surveillance priority lists reordered themselves in quiet obedience. Names surfaced on internal displays—old ones. Forgotten ones.Blood that believed it was owed something.“Find him,” Dominic said quietly into the room. “I don’t care where he’s been hiding.”The system acknowledged at once.Raphael had always been dangerous—not because he was reckless, but because he understood restraint. Because he kn
DEAD ZONES
The call came in just before sunrise.Detective Mira Alvarez was already awake, sitting at the small kitchen table in her apartment, coffee untouched, files spread out like a losing hand. She’d stopped pretending sleep was an option weeks ago. Not since the bodies started turning up wrong.Her phone buzzed.She didn’t look at the screen before answering.“Alvarez.”“We’ve got another one,” dispatch said. “Warehouse district. Dockside. You’re closest.”Mira closed her eyes for half a second.“On my way.”The warehouse smelled like iron and salt and something sour that didn’t belong near water.Police lights painted the corrugated metal walls red and blue, but the colors didn’t warm the place. They never did anymore. Too many scenes like this. Too many nights where the city felt hollowed out.Detective James Rowan ducked under the tape as Mira approached.“You’re late,” he said.“You’re early,” she replied.He handed her gloves. “You’re not going to like this one.”She put them on anyw
UNLEASHED, NOT UNBOUND
Lewis stood at the edge of the chamber.The Underworld did not resemble a city so much as a body—layered, pulsing, alive in ways the surface could never understand. Sound traveled differently here. So did fear.The feral vampires waited.They filled every level of the space, gathered on iron walkways and concrete ledges, crouched in shadows and open corridors alike. Hundreds of them. Some old enough to remember the Monaghan name before it meant domination. Others so recently turned that their hunger still outpaced their thoughts.None of them moved.Lewis had broken that instinct out of them months ago.“Dominic will respond,” the Unknown Man said. “He always does.”Lewis didn’t look at him. His attention remained fixed on the central display—a map not of streets, but of influence. Territory. Lines of obedience glowing faintly across the city.“Of course he will,” Lewis said. “That’s the point.”He stepped forward, boots echoing once. The ferals reacted instantly—backs straightening,