People vanished all the time, and for many reasons. But to be discovered here with a stake in her heart...

The police would stupidly mistake it as the work of a homicidal maniac. The news would spread. The populace would panic. Worst of all, a legion of vampires would suddenly be put on guard that a hunter was in their midst.

And this morning’s efforts would be in vain, for the police or coroner were certain to pull the stake from her heart. She would live again to prowl the night.

No. She had to disappear.

A floorboard creaked as he stepped to the side of the bed. She moaned, squirmed a little beneath the sheet, but didn’t turn over.

The stake still held in his teeth, he reached out with his left hand. He pinched the sheet where its edge curled over her shoulder. As he eased it down she continued to take long, slow breaths. But his own breathing quickened.

The sliding sheet revealed her naked back, the smooth curves of her buttocks, her sleek legs.

She was a vampire, a vile, murdering demon. But her body was that of a slender young woman, and he felt a stir of heat in his groin as he studied her. He trembled with the familiar mingling of lust and terror — a sensation close to ecstasy, which always came upon him at such moments. He used to feel ashamed of his desire. Finally, however, he’d come to consider it a reward for his sacrifices. A payment, of sorts, bestowed upon him to balance out the risks.

Without it he would have lost the will, long ago, to continue his crusade. He knew this to be true. Confronting vampires of the male gender, he felt no such arousal. Only revulsion. As a result he had ceased to seek them out. He considered this to be his greatest failing, but often told himself that he was doing his share. He was one man against a horde. He couldn’t dispatch them all. He had to be selective. So he selected the women. Horrid as they were, they excited him.