A TASTE FOR BLOOD

INTO THE NIGHT

Diego ran. Every step carried the weight of years spent in the Monaghan estate, years of suffocating expectation, blood-stained traditions, and a life he had never wanted.

The gates behind him disappeared into the night, swallowed by distance and shadow, leaving only the cold, indifferent world ahead.

As he crossed the threshold, Dominic Monaghan stood framed in the doorway like a statue carved from moonlight and malice. His face was an immovable mask, eyes burning with slow, deliberate anger. Dominic did not move. He watched his son run.

Diego didn’t look back. He had rehearsed this moment for years in his mind; now that it was real, his legs propelled him faster than fear alone could explain.

A few strides, then more, and the estate fell behind him, but Dominic’s gaze remained, cold and deliberate. The patriarch waited until Diego was several paces beyond the gate, his silhouette shrinking against the dark, before stepping away. His voice, low and steel-edged, cut through the night.

“Bring him back alive,” he ordered. “I will teach him what it means to defy me.”

From the shadows, Dominic’s most trusted enforcers emerged, silent and efficient. They melted into the night like ink spilled across the city’s veins, each movement purposeful, each device trained on a single goal: find Diego Monaghan, return him.

Diego threaded the city streets with breathless focus. Lights and laughter spilled through windows; people moved, oblivious to the fleeing predator.

He ducked into alleys, hugged walls, and kept to the edges where shadows lengthened. Every stray clatter of metal, every distant shout, made his muscles tighten.

At the city’s edge, where asphalt faded into trees, the forest swallowed him in a rush of leaf-scented wind. He ran on instinct, breathing, moving, putting distance between the life he had known and the life he wanted.

Hunger gnawed at him, not for blood, but for warmth, comfort, the small human things he had never allowed himself.

Behind him, Dominic’s men moved like a second shadow, precise and patient. They did not rush; they would not make the mistake of chasing too closely. One scanned the rooftops, another checked street corners.

A third adjusted a tracking device, noting the faint trail of energy and motion Diego left behind.

“He’s fast,” one whispered, almost to himself. “But he won’t outrun us. Not tonight.”

Their movements were quiet, almost predatory, merging with the night like ghosts. Every alley Diego ducked into, every turn he took, they anticipated.

He could not sense them yet, but the air seemed to tighten around him, heavy and insistent, like a net slowly closing.

Diego forced himself faster, pushing through undergrowth at the forest’s fringe. Moonlight picked out the narrow, uneven path.

Each step grew heavier; exhaustion crept into his bones. He had trained for many things, but never for running until his limbs failed.

Breaking from the trees onto a quiet, dimly lit road, the sudden brightness of car headlights stabbed his eyes. The human world felt enormous and chaotic, the smells of exhaust, fried food, and city life nearly unmoored him.

His knees folded. The world tilted. He tried to stand and failed. The last thing he registered before his strength surrendered was the wash of headlights and the urgent murmur of voices.

Hands lifted him, gentle and fumbling. Faces hovered into being: concerned eyes, muffled questions. Diego couldn’t answer. He couldn’t move.

Warm hands carried him away from the cold asphalt and the faint trail of crimson he did not notice, a mark no human would read but which any hunter of his kind would recognize.

At the forest edge, Dominic’s enforcers paused, scanning the darkness with patient intensity. One crouched low, feeling the faint vibrations of Diego’s movement through the earth. Another tilted a small device, tracking the energy signature of his presence.

“He’s here,” the first enforcer whispered, voice steady, almost satisfied. “And he’s tired. Soon, he will be in reach.”

Dominic’s words, carried into the dark earlier, had been simple and absolute: Bring him back alive. I will teach him what it means to defy me.

Diego’s last thought before the world closed on him was small and strange: the brief, bright ache of wanting to be anything but Monaghan. Then cold sleep took him, and the city swallowed the secret of his running whole.