A TASTE FOR BLOOD

A TASTE OF FAMILY

The warm glow of the dining room surrounded them as the family gathered around the table. Plates were set with care: roasted chicken, mashed potatoes, fresh vegetables, and a small pitcher of juice.

For Diego, it was more than a meal, it was a ceremony of normalcy he had never known, centuries of rigid structure and cruelty forgotten for a moment.

Claire dug in eagerly, her little hands moving quickly between bites. Mara smiled, watching her daughter, then looked at Diego. “So, Claire, how was school today?”

“School was cool,” Claire replied, a bright smile lighting her small face. “But… my teacher, Mrs. Mira, gave me lots of homework.”

She glanced at Diego with expectant eyes. “Uncle Liam, can you help me with my homework later?”

Diego hesitated, caught between uncertainty and instinct. The idea of interacting with a human child, of guiding her, was foreign. Yet… there was a warmth in her voice, an openness he hadn’t heard in centuries.

Slowly, he nodded. “Okay,” he said, his voice hoarse, unfamiliar even to himself, but firm.

Claire’s face lit up. She dug into her meal with renewed energy, humming happily as she took small bites between peeks at Diego.

Thomas, seated at the head of the table, regarded Diego carefully. “Looking at you… you must be around seventeen years old. At your age, school should be your priority.”

Diego swallowed, the words stirring something in his mind. Seventeen… that’s human age. For vampires like us, our age is… much longer. Right now, I am one hundred thousand years old, the youngest in my family, yet here, I am seen as a seventeen-year-old teenage boy.

He let the thought settle silently, unspoken, cataloging the strange, brief life he was being given.

I can understand, you don’t remember much… only your name. But if you're among kids your age, maybe… maybe your memory will come back.

Mara nodded toward Thomas, her voice soft but decisive. “Yes, Dean… Thomas is right. Don’t you want to go to school?”

Diego thought for a moment, the concept foreign, alien even. School. He had never gone to school in the way humans did.

He had been home-schooled within the vast, lonely halls of the Monaghan estate, trained in etiquette, history, politics, and… restraint. Socializing with peers had been a lesson in observation, not participation.

Yet now, the idea sparked a small thrill within him. To be among others like himself, even if only in body, pretending age, pretending normalcy, could awaken something lost, something buried beneath centuries of walls.

“Yes,” he said finally, voice quiet but certain.

Thomas and Mara exchanged a glance, relief and hope in their eyes. “Then we’ll figure it out,” Mara said. “Step by step.”

Claire clapped her hands softly. “Yes! Uncle Liam will help me with homework and maybe… we can play after?”

Diego allowed a small smile to tug at his lips. Play… I haven’t done that in centuries.

The table filled with laughter after that, small stories about Claire’s school, Thomas’s grumbles about work, and Mara’s light teasing about him always forgetting to bring the groceries home.

Even Diego found himself listening, absorbing the rhythm of their voices. It felt strange,foreign, but comforting.

When dinner ended, Claire leaned her head on her mother’s shoulder. “Mommy, Uncle Liam eats like he’s shy,” she whispered, thinking Diego couldn’t hear. “You think he doesn’t like chicken?”

Mara stifled a laugh, glancing at him. Diego caught her eyes and looked away quickly, unsure how to respond.

Thomas smiled, standing to gather the dishes. “He’s probably just getting used to your mom’s cooking,” he said lightly. “It’s powerful stuff.”

Mara gave him a playful glare as she swatted his arm with a napkin, and laughter filled the room once again.

For Diego, the moment lingered longer than it should have. He didn’t fully understand why, perhaps it was the warmth, or the feeling of belonging.

But something inside him shifted. For the first time, he wasn’t a weapon or a prisoner or a legacy. He was just someone, sitting at a table, sharing a meal.

Outside, however, the night thickened. The wind pressed against the windows like a whisper, carrying with it a faint trace of danger.

Far away, in the unseen corners of the city, a presence moved, searching, closing in.

And though Diego didn’t know it yet, the taste of family would soon be tested by the taste for blood.