2025-11-13 22:12:09After dinner, the house settled into a soft calm. The scent of roasted chicken lingered faintly in the air as Mara washed dishes in the kitchen and Thomas sorted through papers in the living room.
Claire sat cross-legged on the floor, her notebook open, pencil in hand, a small frown of concentration on her face. “Uncle Liam,” she called brightly, “you promised to help me with my homework!” Diego glanced up from the book in his lap.The title, the Red Blood, still in his mind, its words stirring unease. But when he saw Claire’s eager expression, something within him softened. He set the book aside and walked over. “What is it?” he asked quietly, sitting beside her at the coffee table. Claire pushed the notebook toward him. “Math. Mrs. Mira gave me too much again.” She puffed her cheeks in mock frustration. Diego studied the paper, the simple arithmetic symbols somehow fascinating to him, clean, logical, human. “Let’s do it together,” he said softly. They worked side by side, Claire writing while Diego guided her gently, showing her how to align her answers. When he miscounted once, she giggled and corrected him proudly, her laughter light and infectious. For Diego, each sound was like sunlight piercing a long night. When the last problem was solved, Claire yawned and leaned against his arm. “Thank you, Uncle Liam. You’re the best.” He froze for a moment, her warmth unexpected. Then, slowly, he placed a careful hand on her shoulder. “You’re welcome, little one.” Mara appeared at the doorway, smiling softly. “Alright, bedtime, Claire.” Claire stood, stretched, and hugged Diego around the waist. “Goodnight, Uncle Liam.” He hesitated, then returned the hug. “Goodnight.” When the house fell silent, Diego remained in the dim living room. The lamp flickered softly beside him, shadows bending against the walls. He stared out the window, the quiet streets below bathed in the silver of the moon. For a fleeting second, he allowed himself to believe he could stay, that this fragile, human peace could last. But peace, he now knew, will never last. --- Later that night, sleep took him, slow and reluctant. And with it came the dream. He stood once again in darkness, endless, suffocating. Chains rattled in the distance, their metallic echo slicing through the void. He turned, heart pounding, and what he saw froze his blood. Claire. Mara. Thomas. They were bound by heavy chains, their eyes wide with fear. The air stank of iron and smoke. Then came his father’s voice, deep, commanding, and cold. “Diego.” From the shadows, Dominic Monaghan emerged, his form sharp as carved stone. His eyes glowed with crimson light, and when he spoke again, the sound carried like thunder. “You are Monaghan. And Monaghans do not run from blood… they feast.” The words struck through Diego like a blade. He wanted to scream, to move, but his body was.. frozen, trapped between guilt and terror. Then Claire’s voice pierced through the dark. Her small face streaked with tears, she cried out, “No, Uncle Liam!” The sound shattered something inside him, and suddenly the chains broke, clattering into dust. The dream tore apart like paper. Diego jolted awake, gasping for breath. His heart pounded against his chest as moonlight filtered through the curtains. Sweat clung to his skin, and for a moment, he could still hear their scream in his ears. --- Meanwhile, far from the quiet suburb, a shadow stood upon the edge of a rooftop, still against the roaring wind. The city sprawled beneath like a restless sea of lights and motion. The figure’s long coat rippled in the night air as he raised a small device, its glass core glowing faintly red, pulsing, alive. Inside it rested a trace of blood he had taken nights ago from the roadside, the same night the Diego had collapsed. The faint crimson had stained the concrete then, invisible to ordinary eyes, but he had found it. Collected it. Tracked it. Now, the device responded, the signal returning after days of silence. The shadow stepped forward, moonlight revealing his face, sharp, scarred, and weary. Lucian Vale. Vampire hunter. A man who had hunted for so long that vengeance had replaced faith. He watched the pulsing red light on his tracker, a single dot blinking steadily on the city’s outskirts. “They always think they can hide,” he muttered. Fastening the device around his wrist, Lucian’s gaze hardened. “But blood never lies.” Then, with a swift motion, he stepped off the edge, disappearing into the darkness below, chasing the pulse of the Diego's blood. --- Back at the Monaghan empire, Dominic’s patience was wearing thin. The chamber’s silence was broken only by the steady tapping of his fingers against the armrest. The enforcer knelt. “My lord, Diego's trail of blood was found near the east sector. Someone else is tracking him. We… don’t know who.” Dominic’s eyes darkened. “Another hunter?” “Yes, my lord.” Dominic turned to his sons, Lewis and Leo. His eyes gleamed with menace. “Then find them both. Bring my son to me, and the hunter to his knees.” “Yes, Father,” they said in unison, fading into the dark.
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QUIET THINGS THAT DON'T BREAK
The room was too clean.Diego sat on the edge of the bed, hands resting flat on his thighs, spine straight the way Dominic had taught him. Even alone, his body held the posture. Control first. Always.The walls were pale stone, unmarred by decoration. No windows, only a recessed panel that adjusted light according to schedules he hadn’t chosen. The air smelled faintly of antiseptic and metal, a neutral scent meant to calm, to erase.It didn’t.Something inside him kept reaching—then stopping short, like fingers brushing glass.He closed his eyes.Breathing in. Counting. Breathing out.It worked. Mostly.But memory didn’t listen to discipline.The Evans’ kitchen came back to him without warning, the clatter of a spoon dropped into a sink, the hum of an old refrigerator that complained more than it cooled. The way the floor creaked near the back door. The smell of burnt toast on mornings when no one was really paying attention.Claire’s laugh. Too loud. Too sudden. The way it burst o
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,
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
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
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
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
