Depraved (Tales of a Vampire Hunter #2) (11 page)

“Despite appearances, I wish humans no harm. Like you, I am
half one creature, half another because of this Azazel Priest. My vampire blood
is not strong enough to require me to feed on humans.”

“And your other part? The wolf?”

Lobo sighed, pouring himself another glass of wine. “You may
have heard stories after our first encounter, heard me called
Perro Negro
.” He paused, as if gathering his
thoughts, though Oliver thought every word the man uttered was calculated for
maximum effect.

“So you’re not the devil himself or a werewolf?” Oliver
smiled as if the idea was preposterous.

Lobo chuckled. “No. Though I can see why people here have
come to believe it. The vampire spews his twisted version of things and the
people listen. I have no such power though when humans see me, death follows.”

Oliver said nothing, waiting the man out.

“The history here is long. Complicated. Perhaps someday, we
can share more wine and I can tell you all of it. I think you would find it
informative. I understand you have glimpsed things yourself for which you have
no explanation, no understanding. You and your friend are special in this way,
unique, yes?”

Oliver nodded, not giving away anything more, though he
itched to ask Lobo how he knew so much about him and Miranda.

Lobo smiled and, for the first time, looked ill at ease as
if unsure how to explain.

Oliver looked at him impassively. Lobo would spit it out
sooner or later.

“Though I am not what religious people call the devil, my
purpose here in this place was to usher souls to what some here call the
underworld. At least it was until
he
gained
power. For many years, when one lay dying, I saw them on their way, ensuring
they made no detours and did no further harm to the living of this world.”

“So you’re a good vampire-werewolf-
Perro Negro
.” Oliver’s brow creased as he
absorbed the man’s story. Whether it was true or not, Lobo wanted him to
believe it. That was all that mattered to Oliver, so he contained his doubt and
gazed at Lobo as if nonplussed.

“When I could move freely between our worlds, I served a
purpose. A purpose I am denied because of Azazel Priest.” His eyes flashed with
anger again.

“And without you making sure these souls find their way to
hell? What happens to them?”

“They linger. They cause mischief sometimes or worse. Some
are so tied to the vampire they are used to do his bidding.”

“And others?” Oliver prodded, thinking of Adonia and her
strange aura surrounded in black. Surely, she was not one of those stranded
souls. “Adonia?”

“Yes, some remain, neither dead nor alive. They are the
walking dead. It may be difficult for you to understand, but some long only to
leave this world and find peace in another place. He prevents that because of
his desire to keep the door between our worlds firmly closed. Some hate him for
it as much as I do. These souls I gather close to me until the time comes when
I am able to free them. In this world, as in all others, balance must be
maintained. When it is not, terrible things eventually happen. The Aztecs tell
of many worlds, existing at the same time in peace. When the balance is upset,
some of these worlds begin to threaten the others. If the balance is upset for
too long, it could be enough to shatter the universe. That time is dawning once
more.”

Oliver thought of the otherworld he and Miranda had glimpsed
in mirrors all their lives. Lobo was right—had things been different, he would
have enjoyed talking with him further and learning more about these other
worlds and what was required to keep the balance.

“You tried and failed to kill Azazel before, and surely
you’ve tried again. Why are you so certain I’m the one who can do it?”

“There has never been another like
you
, Mr. Ripley. Azazel Priest is your father.”

Oliver had been waiting for a bombshell,
something that Lobo thought would push him over the edge if he had any doubts
about killing Azazel Priest, but he’d never expected something like this.

“No one knows who my father is,” Oliver said, needing a
moment to gather his armor once more and build the wall that would prevent Lobo
from reading his mind while his emotions swirled inside of him.

“I understand that is what you were told. But, you must have
doubted that. Surely, someone had to know?” Lobo’s voice was steady, his gaze
unwavering. “Or, perhaps you doubted the entire story? Vampires breeding with
vampire hunters? It had to sound like complete and utter nonsense.”

That was true; Oliver had doubted everything Miranda’s
vampire hunter father had told them.

“I think it’s time you told me how you know these things,”
Oliver said. He was unsuccessful in keeping the tension from his voice.

“Fair enough. In your shoes, I would doubt everyone too.”
Lobo smiled. When Oliver did not reply or return his smile, he continued, “Just
as Azazel Priest binds some of the walking dead to him, many choose to remain
in my service as you have seen for yourself. Some of the ones who serve me are
deeply entrenched among those he and others trust.”

“Spies?” He was sure no walking dead spies had grown close
to anyone in his family. He’d never seen or heard of anyone who had the odd
auras Lobo’s servants had either.

“I prefer to think of them as messengers.”

“So, these messengers told you about Miranda and me? About
the experiment that resulted in our odd DNA?” It seemed far-fetched but
possible. Oliver was learning that just about anything was possible.

“Yes. The Vladula clan and your own Ripley family also put
the word out to all vampire and hunter families about you, so there’s not a
clan in the world that isn’t aware of your existence. Believe it or not, you
are lucky I found you first. Anyone else would have tried to kill you on sight
or collect the reward for capturing you and bringing you to those who would
rather experiment with you to see what doors you might be able to unlock with
your unusual abilities.”

“Not broken my bones, locked me up, and threatened to kill
my girlfriend?” Oliver said with a faint smile.

Lobo chuckled and shrugged, his dark eyes glittering. “As I
said before, most of that was unintended. On the highway, my men tried to tell
you that they meant you no harm.”

“But they did knock my car off the road. And what of the
first time? When you came after me in the shape of a wolf? You didn’t seem like
you wanted to be friends then.”

“Can you blame me? Since you were born, we’ve heard legends
and tales about what power you might have. And you were supposed to be dead.
Then, you show up—alive, a powerful male on the run with another just like you?
Neither of you has any idea of the potential you have, do you? I had to see
what you were made of. A test, nothing more. No harm was done.”

“Not then. No.” Oliver was quiet.

Lobo didn’t fill the silence with more information.

“Did I pass your test?” Oliver asked.

“You are a fighter, Mr. Ripley. You will not go down easy.
You are cagey and determined. Without even realizing it, you tap into your
powers when your back is to a wall. Once developed, you will be a force to be
reckoned with. Hunters absorb the energy of those they take down. If you can
use your guts and determination to kill Azazel Priest, you will become one of
the most powerful vampire hunters who has ever lived. Add to that your
interesting mixed DNA and you could be the one to change everything.” Lobo’s
eyes gleamed with excitement and the fervor of his words.

It was clear that even if much of what he said was untrue,
he wanted this vampire dead with everything in him. Oliver, however, only cared
about one thing.

“Even if I manage to kill him, I’ll have every vampire and
hunter in the world after me. I can’t fight all of them.” As soon as the words
left his mouth, Oliver cursed himself for letting his guard down, for telling
the man what he was actually thinking as if they were in this thing together.

“I will do everything I can to help you should you manage to
kill Azazel Priest.”

“Great,” Oliver said, managing to keep most of the sarcasm
from his tone. The situation looked pretty bleak no matter how you sliced it.
Still, none of that changed his main mission.

“With my network, and enough time, I’m confident I can come
up with something. You’ll have me, and all who serve me on your side and we are
legion.”

But not strong enough to take out one vampire, Oliver
thought. “Good. We’re all set then, except one thing—I’m not leaving here
without Miranda,” he said, a stubborn tilt to his chin.

Lobo smiled, nodding as if he’d expected this. “This, I
cannot agree to.”

“Then, the deal’s off.” Oliver rested his folded hands on
his stomach.

Lobo raised an eyebrow, his smile faltering. “You’d let me
kill her? I think not.”

“Then, you’d think wrong.” He tried to calm the hammering of
his heart. This was a risky move, and he knew it. If Miranda died because of
his gamble, he’d never forgive himself.

Lobo’s expression was unreadable, but Oliver picked up
things in the man’s body-language and his darkening aura that told him he was
surprised, but not angered over Oliver’s gambit. Neither man spoke, sipping
wine as if they played only a friendly game of chess, not a game that might end
in death.

Finally, Lobo sighed and rubbed the bridge of his
aristocratic nose. “On this you will not bend, even though she would be safer
here with me? What if I vow not to harm her should you fail?”

“I wouldn’t believe you. I’m having trust issues lately. The
safest place for Miranda is at my side. I won’t leave here without her.”

“And if I give you this, you will kill Azazel Priest?”
Lobo’s dark eyes narrowed again as if he was trying to pry open Oliver’s soul
to see the truth of his intentions.

“Though vampire hunters don’t take on work for hire, I don’t
see why I couldn’t make an exception. If this vampire is as fierce and deadly
as you claim, he needs killing anyway. If you keep your word and help us get
out of Mexico alive that alone is worth the risk.”

“I give you my word.” Lobo extended a hand.

Oliver shook it. “Take me to her now.”

He knew it was a dangerous request, knew he was exposing his
weakest point to Lobo, but he was unable to keep himself from it any longer. He
had to see her and know she was all right.

“As you wish.” Lobo’s voice had gone deadly calm, all
emotion stripped from it.

He’d played his last card, and he knew it. All he had now
was the hope that Oliver would keep his end of the bargain.

Lobo led Oliver through a tunnel feeding into the cavern
from the other side. Down another long mining tunnel they went until they came
to a door, similar to the one that had kept him secured.

“She has not . . . rallied the way you have, Mr. Ripley, I
should warn you.” The man’s tone was grave. “You may decide after seeing her
that the best thing would be to leave her here in a doctor’s care.”

“Was she hurt?” Oliver growled, his fists clenching at his
sides. Regardless of Lobo’s finely spun fairy tales and explanations, he’d
still held them prisoner and was responsible for whatever state Miranda was in.

“No.” Lobo shook his head. “Physically, she’s fine. Perhaps
she doesn’t have the strength that you do. She seemed to give up, go into
herself somehow. The doctor said he’s seen it before. It’s almost as if she’s
in a coma. Mentally, she’s given up on life and her body has not caught up
yet.”

His Miranda was strong. Brave. A fighter. She’d never give
up, never be so weak. There had to be some mistake. Or Lobo was lying, and they
had hurt her.

Oliver’s fists clenched at his sides. His breath caught in
his throat, and his heart pounded in his chest. He reached out with his mind
and found nothing of Miranda that greeted him. “Open the door. Now.”

Lobo nodded. “I only wished to
prepare you. I am not immune to love and, despite how you’ve tried to hide it,
it pours from you. Perhaps you will be the one to break the spell her mind has
on her body and bring her back to the living. I truly hope you can.”

He reached into the pocket of his long leather coat and
brought out a key, fitting it in the lock and turning it.

Before he’d withdrawn it, Oliver reached around him and
pushed open the heavy wooden door, rushing into a chamber almost the twin of
the one he’d been kept in. His breath caught in his throat when he saw her lying
there, in a bed that dwarfed her and made her look frail and child-like. He
strode to her, sitting carefully on the edge of the bed, the way one might if
in a hospital, visiting someone seriously ill, as if even the disturbance from
his weight upsetting the mattress might somehow hurt her.

“Miranda.” Oliver leaned over and studied her still face,
covering one of her hands with his.

Her fingers were cold and did not move. She did not stir at
all, though Oliver saw a pulse beating strongly and evenly in the hollow of her
throat.

He turned to Lobo who had followed him into the room.

“Has she been like this ever since you brought us here?”
Oliver traced the outline of Miranda’s cheek with a fingertip, reaching inside
of her with everything he had and finding . . . nothing.

“Yes. She heard you cry out on the road and she collapsed.
We carried her here and here she has remained.”

“How long have we been here?” He should have asked that
before, but he’d been too concerned about other things.

Oliver thought of the notebook he and Miranda had started
writing in as they’d traveled through the mountain pass, the lists of questions
and answers and possibilities, how they’d written it all down and felt so smart
for trying to think of everything. But life always found a way to show him that
it would not be figured out.