If monsters aren’t real, why do I kill so many of them?
I’ve spent the last five years training as a vampire hunter. My goal is to hunt, maim, and kill as many of the bastards as I can. They’re infecting our city and each time I manage to kill one, five more spring up in its place. The vampire hunter’s council is breathing down my neck, but I’m already working 25 hours a day, eight days a week.
Then one night, everything changes.
I make a mistake and a vampire catches me. He doesn’t kill me, though. Instead, he brings me into his lair and he makes me question…everything.
What if everything I’ve ever been taught has been a lie?
What if the vampires aren’t the real monsters?
What if it’s me?