A TASTE FOR BLOOD

FIRST STEPS IN THE HUMAN WORLD

The sunlight was soft, warm, and diffuse, spilling across the room in gentle gold. Diego blinked against it, muscles stiff, body still aching from the night’s flight. For a moment, he simply lay there, listening: the faint clatter of dishes, the tiny footsteps of a child moving carefully along the floor. He was happy and free for now.

Just then a small voice broke the quiet. “Do you want to come downstairs?” the girl asked, peeking around the doorway. Her eyes were wide and curious, cautious but gentle. “Mummy’s making breakfast.”

Breakfast… Diego thought, the word echoing oddly in his mind. It was calm, unassuming, offered with warmth and care, nothing like the sharp commands, the cold rituals, or the blood-stained meals of the Monaghan estate. Breakfast, he repeated silently.

They… they actually said it like that. For me. His stomach tightened at the novelty. For centuries, he had eaten only what the housekeeper had sneaked him at night, scraps of bread, stolen fruit, small kindnesses hidden in shadows. Never freely, never with care. But that was what sustain him for years, giving him hope and not starvation.

He sat up slowly, testing his limbs, each movement deliberate. The warmth of the blankets lingered around him like a shield. He took a deep breath and, finally, spoke aloud. “Okay,” he said, his voice rough, foreign even to himself. It belonged to him, unclaimed for centuries.

The girl’s eyes brightened. “What’s your name?” she asked next, stepping further into the room.

Diego froze for a heartbeat. They don’t know who I am. They shouldn’t. His mind raced. His real name… Diego Monaghan… could not leave his lips here. Not yet. Too much risk, too much history, too much blood.

“I… I’m Liam,” he said finally, hesitating, choosing something ordinary, something human.

The girl’s face lit up with a smile. “Uncle Liam?” she said, as if the word had always belonged there. She took his hand gently and tugged him toward the stairs. “Come on, Uncle Liam! Breakfast!”

As they reached the kitchen, Claire called out brightly, announcing to her parents, “Mom! Dad! Uncle Liam is here!”

The couple exchanged a surprised glance, Good morning, Liam,” she said. “I’m Mara, and this is Thomas. You’ve had a rough night, but you’re safe now.”

Thomas nodded, quiet but steady. “Eat first. Then we can talk later,Liam.”

The kitchen smelled of something unfamiliar but comforting, pancakes stacked high, fresh fruit, and glasses of juice.

Diego followed Claire’s lead, taking in every detail: the sunlight on the table, the warmth of the air, the gentle sounds of ordinary life.

Claire slid into the seat beside him, her small hand resting on the edge of the table. “I drew something last night,” she said softly, producing a folded paper. She placed it carefully in front of him.

“You can keep it.”

Diego’s gaze softened. A drawing of him sitted at the table last night.

“Thank you,” he thought, though he did not speak aloud. Instead, he tucked the drawing into the folds of his jacket.

After breakfast, Thomas prepared to take Claire to school. The girl hugged Liam tightly. “Bye, Uncle Liam!” she said. “I’ll see you later!”

Diego watched them go, her small hand waving until the car disappeared down the street. Alone with Mara, he felt the unfamiliar weight of normalcy, a world without pursuit, for now.

Mara smiled, taking his hand gently. “Come on, Liam. Let’s get you some proper clothes and a haircut.”

They walked through the bustling streets, Mara chatting casually as he cataloged everything: the smell of baked bread from nearby shops, the honking of cars, the distant laughter of children playing.

Yet beneath the ordinary human world, a thread of unease tugged at him. Danger lingered. He quickened his pace, hurrying Mara along, but she only smiled at his awkward urgency.

At the tailor’s, new clothes were fitted, plain jeans, soft shirts, sturdy shoes, every piece an anchor to this new life.

The hairdresser worked quickly, cutting away the long, wild strands that had been a part of him for centuries. Diego watched his reflection, eyes wide, half-fascinated, half-uneasy.

Finally, they entered the supermarket, baskets in hand, gathering ingredients for dinner. Diego’s senses stretched: human presence, the rich aroma of fresh produce, and beneath it all, the faint metallic scent, subtle, almost imperceptible. Danger.

Someone else had sensed it too, moving through the city like a shadow, tracking something he could not yet see. He pressed closer to Mara, whispering his concern.

Mara frowned. “Relax, Liam. It’s just the city. Nothing to worry about.”

But Diego could not shake it. Outside the warmth of this ordinary human world, pursuit lingered. The faint crimson trace he had left behind last night he collapsed had not gone unnoticed.

Somewhere, someone-human, perhaps something else, had found it. And now, that presence moved silently, unseen, patient, and precise.

He bit back a warning. For now, he would follow Mara’s lead. For now, he would learn the rhythms of this world.

But in the back of his mind, a shadow lingered: the city was not as safe as it seemed. And in the distance, unknown eyes tracked the boy who called himself Liam, searching for the trail of Monaghan blood he had tried to leave behind.