It's been a while since I read this. This novel put vampires back in their proper place, vile, damned, dastardly, or in the words of F. Paul Wilson himself - soulless, merciless, parasitic creatures - and not the dashing romanticized aesthestic pack of meat they're are so often painted as, especially by women authors. They're leeches. Tapeworms. Even mosquitoes have more honor than them.