From the author of the “exciting, suspenseful, horrifying” (Stephen King) Fever House, a Vietnam veteran and his adopted niece hunt—and are hunted by—the vampire that slaughtered their family.

It’s the winter of 1975, and Portland, Oregon, is all sleet and neon. Duane Minor is back home after a tour in Vietnam, a bartender just trying to stay sober; save his marriage with his wife, Heidi; and connect with his thirteen-year-old niece, Julia, now that he’s responsible for raising her. Things aren’t easy, but Minor is scraping by.

Then a vampire walks into his bar and ruins his life.

When Minor crosses John Varley, a killer who sleeps during the day beneath loose drifts of earth and grows teeth in the light of the moon, Varley brutally retaliates by murdering Heidi, leaving Minor broken with guilt and Julia filled with rage. What’s left of their splintered family is united by only one desire: vengeance.

So begins a furious, frenzied pursuit across the Pacific Northwest and beyond. From grimy alleyways to desolate highways to snow-lashed plains, Minor and Julia are cast into the dark orbit of undead children, silver bullet casters, and the bevy of broken men transfixed by Varley’s ferocity. Everyone’s out for blood.

Gritty, unforgettable, and emotionally devastating, Coffin Moon asks what will be left of our humanity when grief transmutes into violence, when monsters wear human faces, and when our thirst for revenge eclipses everything else.

Vampires and I go way back. As a kid, they terrified me (thanks for that, Scooby Doo). By my teen years, the fear shifted into fascination (extra thanks to The Lost Boys). Ever since, I’ve been chasing that mix of dread and allure. Sometimes authors like Anne Rice and Stephen King nail it . Other times, not so much (Miss Meyer, you know what you did). So when I picked up this book, I wasn’t sure what I’d find, but what I got was exactly the kind of vampire story I was hoping for.

The vampire villain in this book is dangerous. He’s not the brooding, star-crossed kind, but a predator who does terrible things to innocent people. Rosson doesn’t soften the edges or attempt to make us see him as some sort of misunderstood creature. He’s a killer, plain and simple. But he may have messed with the wrong people.

At the heart of the book is Duane Minor, a Vietnam vet turned bartender in 1975 Portland, just trying to piece together a broken life. He’s newly responsible for his teenage niece Julia, desperate to salvage his marriage, and one step away from falling apart completely. Then a vampire named John Varley walks into his bar and blows his already tenuous life to hell.

Varley is the kind of villain you love to hate. He’s cruel and blood thirsty (literally), and when he destroys Duane’s fragile family, the aftermath pushes both Duane and Julia into a desperate spiral of revenge. They’re not classic heroes. They’re damaged, angry, and reckless, which makes their choices feel all the more real. Watching them scrape through grief while chasing down a monster was a whole lot of fun.

The book’s setting only adds to its grit. 1975 Portland is a gritty, sleet-filled backdrop that drips atmosphere. I live here now, and reading scenes set on streets not far from where I live gave the book an extra jolt. Even without that personal connection, the city is more than window dressing. It’s dark and moody and very noirish.

And then there’s the revenge. Some books treat revenge like a clean payoff, but here it’s messy. Bloody. Questionable. What does it mean to lose everything and still keep going? At what point do you become as monstrous as the thing you’re chasing? Rosson doesn’t hand out easy answers. He lets the violence stain the story, and the result is both satisfying and unsettling.

Another highlight is the pacing. Rosson doesn’t waste a word. Action is balanced with character moments, and those character beats hit hard. Duane and Julia are broken people, but their anger and grief are so raw that you can’t look away. Even the side characters feel jagged and alive. There was no missed mark.

I finished the last page and immediately bought Rosson’s other two novels. That’s how hard this one landed for me. It’s horror that respects the vampire mythos, but it’s also a raw character study and a brutal road trip through grief. Gritty, atmospheric, and unrelenting, this is the kind of book that sticks with you. If you like your vampires dangerous, your heroes flawed, and your stories soaked in atmosphere, this is one to grab.

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