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PrologueDecember 17, 1957
New York City
The vampire lay flat on his back, impaled by an ornate, steel fireplace poker sticking out of his chest. It wasn't a mortal blow; the poker had missed the center of his heart but the wound was still enough to render him immobile. He could not move, couldn't even squirm as the nearly forgotten sensation of pain coursed through him.
His assailant's aim might have been off, but she'd been clever enough to drag him to the rooftop. The improvised stake might not destroy him but the sun certainly would if he couldn't get indoors before sunrise.
The vampire inhaled one breath through gritted teeth, hissing at the new agony that slammed through his body.
For long minutes, he forced more air into himself. Concentrate on inhaling, he told himself, mustn't think about the pain. If he couldn't block the pain, he would die here.
Through deep breaths, the vampire was able to put himself in a trance. Gradually, welcome darkness descended on his consciousness, taking away his pain and fear.
First, he focused on the void, allowed in no thoughts. When his concentration was total, he pushed his soul out of his body. In astral form, he stood on the rooftop and stared down at his helpless body.
The strength needed for astral projection pushed the vampire closer to death, but it was his only chance. He grasped the poker with his soul's hands, deeply thankful for the magic that gave his astral form the ability to move objects in the physical world.
The temptation was to try and yank the poker from his heart but that would be fatal. Everything must be done by slow degrees,allow his body to adapt to the change, not break his concentration.
Patient and beyond pain, the vampire pulled the poker out inch by inch. Finally, he was able to dislodge the poker and throw it off the rooftop. The thing had not even landed when the vampire was thrust back into his body, moaning at the intense pain and ferocious need for blood.
The gaping wound in his chest and blood pouring from his body horrified him. If he did not feed soon, he would bleed to death.
Blood was his only thought ... everything else, even thoughts of hate and revenge, were shoved to the side. He must have blood to heal his body. The vampire forced himself to sit up.
He glanced at the body of Trevor, the mortal servant who'd been with him for nearly thirty years. He felt no grief at the man's passing, just frustration because the body had already been bled dry by the vampire who'd left him here to die.
The vampire tried to stand, but was overcome by dizziness and nausea. He had to crawl to the rooftop door, despising his weakened condition. How many would rejoice to see him this way, helpless and sick? At the thought of his enemies gloating, the vampire recovered some of his strength and managed to fling open the door, lurching down the steep stairs.
A quick glance at the sky told him dawn was only thirty minutes away. The vampire stood on the front steps of his town house, scanning the dark city street for prey. Damnation! Wasn't New York supposed to be the city that never slept? How could the street be so devoid of humans?
Central Park, he thought desperately. Surely there'll be some lovers there or maybe a degenerate sleeping on a park bench. Unable to walk upright, the vampire limped down the block to the great park.
He concentrated on nothing but his need for blood. Dimly he heard some vulgar driver curse him when he crossed the street against the light and the car nearly ran him over. A bitter laugh escaped him ... what an anticlimax that would be for him, run down in the street like a mangy dog.
The vampire collapsed by a park bench, overcome by nausea. He vomited profusely, more precious blood leaving his body.
"Too much to drink, then?" a masculine voice with a strong New York accent inquired. "We can't have you dirtying the city, fella ... into the paddy wagon with you."
Deo Gratias, the vampire thought in relief. A cop!
"What's wrong, can't get up?" The vampire pulled himself into the fetal position in an attempt to look more pathetic for his prey. He heard concern replace contempt in the cop's voice. "What in the hell happened to you?"
Gingerly, the cop turned the severely wounded man over and gasped at the bright gold eyes and vicious fangs protruding from his mouth.
"No," the cop whimpered, shock immobilizing him. Easily, the vampire stretched one arm up and dragged his prey down to the sidewalk with him. He attacked the jugular vein, greedily sucking down the blood.
He could not have asked for better sustenance than this strong, young man in the prime of his life. The vampire lapped up his prey's blood and strength, feeling them heal him. The monstrous wound in his heart closed, his clammy skin became warm. Pain vanished and power began to course through him once more.
Eyes blazing with triumph, the vampire raised his mouth and glanced dispassionately at the corpse. He'd bled the man dry. That was his custom, even when he was not ill. Why take a meager bit of blood when mortals offered so much more?
Had anyone seen him? It was dangerous to feed on an open street, but the vampire had had no choice. In full command of his senses again, he glanced at the park benches and up into the windows of the high-rises surrounding him. The devil had smiled on him ... no witnesses.
