Prologue

Few creatures of the night have captured our imagination like vampires...
What explains our enduring fascination with vampires?
What is it about the vampire myth that explains our interest?
Is it the overtones of sexual lust, power, control...
Or is it a fascination with the immortality of the undead?
And what dark and hidden parts of our psyche are aroused and captivated
By the legends of the undead?
The mysteries of the undead will continue to fascinate the living...
- Godsmack, Vampires

The body lies in an alleyway, partially concealed behind an industrial-sized dustbin. The stench of blood and death permeates the air; it is this, and the foot poking out from behind the dustbin, that leads Dante Fekete to the body.

A girl, no more than twenty years old. Dark hair in a tidy bob, a slim and petite figure. She's wearing a pair of faded skinny jeans and a bright pink halter-neck top, completely inappropriate for the cold weather. There's a vicious bite mark on her neck, the edges ragged and torn, and similar wounds on her wrists. Something has been at her, and they weren't nice about it, either.

"Az isten bassza meg!" Dante swears and kicks the side of the dustbin violently, hard enough to dent the solid metal and bruise his toe at the same time. The sound echoes through the still night. He ignores the pain in his foot - he's experienced worse - and crouches down to examine the girl's body more closely. She hasn't been dead for long, half an hour at the most. If only he'd got here sooner...

Furious with himself, he rises to his feet. He turns from the corpse and stalks off. He doesn't want to be seen near the body; it would only cause unnecessary problems, problems he really doesn't need right now.

There's a young couple talking and laughing as they walk down the pavement towards Dante. The man is tall with blond hair, and the girl is beautiful, with sincere hazel eyes and long brown hair that tumbles down her back. They're clearly both very drunk, and the girl accidentally bumps into Dante as they pass each other. She turns to apologise, and their eyes meet for a timeless moment.

Her companion says something to her, and she turns away, laughing. Blinking to clear his head - suddenly his thoughts seem unclear - Dante continues down the road, forgetting about the experience. He returns to his hotel room and turns the TV on to a late night movie, his attention not really on the screen.

Five months, he realises. He's been hunting the vampires responsible for the deaths of dozens of girls for five months, and he's no closer to stopping them now than he was when the first murder occurred. They always seem to be one step ahead of him, and it's getting tiring. He's chased them all across Europe, from Hungary to England; who knows where they will go next? Things can't continue like this for much longer. Every time they kill, the secret that vampires exist threatens to be revealed.

Dante sits up on his bed and gets to his feet. He strides over to the mini bar and opens the door, removing one of the bags of blood he's put in there. Given all the travelling he's done lately, it would be much easier if he could just get by on human food - but although his half vampire status means he doesn't have to drink blood as often as a full vampire, he can't go more than three or four days without it. It's an annoying complication.

The hairs stand up on the back of Dante's neck, and he feels as though someone is watching him. He stands perfectly still for a moment and listens, but all he hears are the normal sounds of a hotel at night. He whips around suddenly but there's no one there.

He sighs and rubs his jaw wearily. This isn't the first time he's felt a strange presence since he began hunting the vampire murderers. Several times he's felt someone watching him, but there is never anyone there. The presence doesn't feel malevolent, but all the same it unnerves him. He'd almost think a ghost was watching him, except he doesn't believe in ghosts.

Dante tears open the bag of blood with his teeth and drinks deeply. When he's finished, he throws the bag in the bin and heads into the small bathroom attached to his hotel room. He fills the sink with water, washing the blood from around his mouth. The clear water turns a pale pink colour. Dante stares at his shaky reflection in the water for a moment - wavy dark hair, serious brown eyes beneath straight eyebrows, mouth set in a frown - before pulling out the plug and letting the water drain away.

He turns off the TV and sprawls on his bed, staring unseeingly up at the ceiling. His mind flashes back to images of his human friend, Ilona, the third victim of the vampires. He remembers finding her body in an alleyway, just like the most recent victim, having been lying there for more than a day without discovery. It's what made him give up his job and take after the murderers. He may not know exactly what he's doing - he's never tracked someone, or rather several someones, like this before - but he doesn't care. All he knows is that he has to avenge his friend's death, and the deaths of all the other girls who have died.

"If it's the last thing I do," he mutters resolutely.