Depraved (Tales of a Vampire Hunter #2) (10 page)

“You are free to go anytime you like. I admire you, Mr.
Ripley. You have my word that I will do you no harm regardless of your
decision.”

“Interesting.” Oliver waited for the catch he knew was
coming.

“If you do this for me, I’ll let the
girl
go with you.” Lobo sat on the edge of the
bed, so close Oliver felt the warmth of him through the sheet still covering
his foot.

“And if I refuse to kill for you?” It took everything he had
in him not to lunge for the man’s throat.

“I think you must know the answer to that too.” Lobo’s eyes
narrowed and though his voice was soft and kind, his expression was anything
but.

“You’ll kill her.” Oliver’s voice was hard.

“Bingo, as you Americans like
to say.” Lobo smiled.

*****

The girl returned, bringing clothing that she placed in a
neat pile on the chair next to the bed. At her waist she wore a chain carrying
the key to the lock keeping him in the room. He wondered what other locks it
would open. He wondered if the girl knew where they were keeping Miranda.

“
Vestidos
,” she said
slowly, as if that would help Oliver understand the word. Then she pointed at
the pants and shirt, and he understood.

“Clothes,” he said, stopping his pacing. “
Vestidos
.”

“Clothes,” she repeated, breaking into a shy smile.

“Shoes?” Oliver asked, noting that she had not locked the
door behind her this time.

“
No lo entiendo
,” she
answered, shaking her head.

“You don’t understand.
No
entiendo
.” Oliver sat on the edge of the bed. He pointed at his feet.
“Shoes.”

“Ah, shoes!
Zapatos
.”
She smiled, clearly pleased she’d figured out what he was asking, but then she
shook her head slowly again. “
No zapatos
.”

Of course not. Lobo had left
him to think about his offer and had sent the girl who was not a girl. Lobo was
afraid Oliver would run if given shoes, but enjoyed tempting him with the key
in plain sight. Most men probably would have run, tried to find their way out
of what Oliver had decided was an underground place, most likely an abandoned
mine.

But running wouldn’t help
Miranda, so it was not an option, no matter how tempting. She could not be close
by. If she had been, they would have been able to communicate telepathically.
Unless she’s already dead, he thought, or they are keeping her drugged. So many
possibilities, no answers. He kept his focus on the here and the now and what
he could control.

He turned to the girl,
Adonia, Lobo had called her.

“
Gracias
,” he said,
letting the sheet he’d wrapped around his waist fall to the floor and reaching
for the pants she’d brought him.

He stepped into the black
jeans, smiling when he glanced at Adonia and found her heavily lashed eyes
opened wide as she watched him, a pink flush spotting her creamy cheeks. She
was not immune to his charms either. Good.

Oliver pulled on the black
t-shirt that had been provided for him and topped it with the black hoodie. He must
look like a barefoot bank robber. Vampire killing gear?

“Okay?” He walked slowly to
where she stood with her hand on the ornate door handle.

He approached her the way one
might a dog that was afraid of people, watching her unusual white aura with its
ring of black shrink from him, yet pulse in the middle.

“Okay,” she said, her voice
catching.

Oliver reached out slowly and
placed his hand over hers where it rested on the door handle.

“You’ve been kind. I wish you
could understand me so I could thank you,” he said.

He found himself wanting to
know more about her, this young girl dressed like a Spanish princess from
another time, with the aura that branded her as something unknown, but he
pushed that desire away, focusing on her the way he would a vampire he intended
to seduce.

“
No lo entiendo
,” she
said softly, her thumb brushing his so delicately that at first he thought he’d
imagined it.

“I know. You don’t
understand.” His fingers curled around hers, the tips finding her palm and
lingering there like a kiss.

With everything he had, he
pushed his vampire hunter essence at her, vitality and sexual energy pulsing
through his body. Even his hair felt electrified, but he shoved all of it down
into his finger tips that brushed the vein on the inside of her wrist.

She gasped but did not pull
away.

Oliver’s eyes dipped to the
key and then to the pulse throbbing madly in her throat. “Shh, it’s okay,” he
said, using a word he knew she understood.

I won’t hurt you, he thought,
trying to insert the thought into her mind where maybe she would sense it even
if she didn’t understand it. He was reaching for the key when the door opened,
pushed from the other side.

Adonia jumped backward,
wide-eyed, clutching her throat and holding herself with one arm wrapped
protectively around her middle.

“You almost had her there,
Mr. Ripley. I’m impressed! No one has ever had the effect on her that you do.
Quite interesting really. I wish we had more time to explore, but play time is
over. Have you thought about my offer?” Lobo said. In his hands he carried a
pair of black, sturdy looking work boots and heavy cotton socks.

Oliver reached for the boots.
“I’ll do it.”

“Wonderful!” Lobo said, though he
couldn’t have had much doubt about Oliver’s willingness to play ball considering
the price of refusal.

Adonia had moved away from Lobo and Oliver and stood by the
bed. Her aura once more had the solid wall of black surrounding the white that
was no longer shimmering and had turned a faint, stormy gray.

Oliver sensed, not for the first time, that she wasn’t
exactly a willing accomplice to Lobo’s plans. If her aura was any indication,
she was frightened and worried. If auras could speak, hers was saying beware.

“Before you leave, we’ll need to hash out details. I’m sure
you’ve grown tired of this room,” Lobo said.

Oliver turned his thoughts from the girl who had been so
kind, after a fleeting moment of regret knowing he probably wouldn’t see her
again. “Another view would be nice. One equipped with chairs perhaps?”

“Of course. I’ve had a meal prepared. You’ll need your
strength for what is to come.” Lobo swept his arm toward the open door. “After
you, my friend.”

Oliver glanced once more at Adonia, who stood wringing her
hands. He pushed a thought toward her, hoping it found its way into her mind.
If I can help you too, I will, he thought. He saw not even a flinch to indicate
she’d received his message. “
Gracias
,
Adonia, for your kindness,” he said, and then he walked out into a hall that
was more like a tunnel.

“
Él piensa que es su amigo
,”
Lobo said to Adonia as if translating.

Amigo meant friend, Oliver
knew. Whatever Lobo had said had a sarcastic ring to it, but Oliver had other
things to worry about now.

Dirt, lined with wooden braces and boards, formed a long
passageway. Here and there, rock jutted out. Some of it had been chipped away,
revealing flecks of a silver, metallic looking ore. As suspected, it seemed
like they were deep inside the mountain in what once had been a mine of some
kind. Rusty, iron brackets held lanterns and the space was well lit. No other
doors opened off the long hall that went from dirt and the dark rock to a
lighter stone. Limestone, Oliver thought, thinking of caverns in Indiana he’d
explored as a kid.

It was cold, and the air felt damp in this part of Lobo’s
lair. Oliver moved faster and finally the hall opened up into a large cavern.

From the ceiling hung glistening gray and white stalactites,
some that looked to be 100 feet long, tilted at angles that hinted at the
rushing water that must have formed them over thousands of years. In the
distance, Oliver heard rushing water. As he moved farther into the cavern, he
saw a pool of milky water being fed by a waterfall. Far above, a hole opened to
the night sky.

His heartbeat quickened seeing a way out of this place so
near, but he forced his excitement to still. He could not leave, not yet. The
cave was dotted with alcoves that nature and man had notched into the walls.
Each one held a glowing lantern. Had he been here under any other
circumstances, Oliver would have been entranced.

“Spectacular, yes?” Lobo came to a stop beside him, gazing
about as if seeing the place through Oliver’s eyes.

“Very.” Oliver let out a low whistle.

“If you’re thinking about trying to leave, I should warn you
that this is part of the largest, deepest cave system in the world. Much of it
has never been explored and that which has is quite nasty. Rivers swell out of
nowhere, bats in the thousands, and their guano that can be many meters
thick—whole lakes of it in some parts—spores that choke the air and kill many
an adventurous type all just beyond my little corner of the world. Though, as
promised, if you wish to leave now I will do nothing to stop you.”

“I’ve heard about the dangers of cave diving. Besides, I’m
hungry, and you promised me dinner.” Again, Oliver was careful to construct an
attitude of impenetrable calm and ease with his situation.

Lobo chuckled. “Indeed I did. Come . . . come, let us eat
and talk. You must have many questions.”

Oliver followed him past the pool, around a boulder as big
as an apartment building, and found a lavish dining space. Paintings hung on
the stone, and a huge fireplace, carved right into the limestone, held a fire
that warmed the place nicely. A large table of carved wood with heavy legs and
high backed chairs with deep-red velvet seats waited. The table had already
been set with china rimmed in silver, and goblets and crystal shined in the
candlelight coming from candelabras lining the long table. Underfoot, a rug in
rich, jewel tones completed the scene.

Lobo gestured to a side chair and took a throne-like chair
at the head of the table for himself. A rather unnecessary show of power,
Oliver thought as he took the offered seat.

“Wine?” Lobo asked, reaching for a decanter filled with
ruby-red wine.

“Yes, thank you.” Oliver leaned back, stretching his legs
under the table as if he hadn’t a care in the world, though it took every ounce
of effort he had not to yell at the man to cut to the chase already and get to
it.

“So, you must have many questions.” Lobo lifted his glass
and inclined his head.

“Why don’t we start with who this vampire is you want me to
kill.”

“A fine place to begin.” Lobo drank deeply before
continuing. “He calls himself Azazel Priest.” His tone held distaste as he
spoke the vampire’s name and his dark eyes narrowed, flashing hatred.

“Priest? As in Catholic Priest?” Vampires had a long history
with the church, but surely none had ever risen to the rank of Priest.

“At one time, yes. Long ago. He’s taken many names, many
guises. This is only the one he has kept the longest.”

“Because it serves him somehow?”

“You are very intuitive, Mr. Ripley. That is indeed the
case. You must know some of this country’s bloody history with Spanish rulers.
They brought death and religion until the Mexicans overthrew them. By then,
many had cast off the borrowed Catholic religion, but some clung to it. The
Aztec ways still run deep here too. The vampire merely picks from myth and
legend and history. His name is only a reflection of that which he uses to bind
the people to him.”

“Bind them how?” The idea seemed insane to Oliver.

Before Lobo could answer, a young man appeared bearing a
tray. Behind him, several girls carried similar trays. Like Adonia, they looked
more Spanish than Mexican and wore old-fashioned outfits and outdated
hairstyles.

Lobo waited for them to lay out a feast of rice and beans,
red and brown sauces, grilled meats and tortillas. When they had finished, they
left without saying a word.

“Try the
mole
sauces,
Mr. Ripley. The region is known for them. I think you’ll find them quite
delightful.” Lobo sliced steak into thin strips and layered it on a corn
tortilla. After drizzling the meat with red mole, he bit into the taco, closing
his eyes and sighing with pleasure.

Oliver’s stomach grumbled. As much as he didn’t like the
idea of eating at the man’s table, he desired the food more, so he dug in.
After trying tacos with both types of
moles
and all of the meats, he poured himself more wine.

“So, the humans here know about and support this vampire?”
Oliver asked.

“Yes, and that is why he must die. He binds the people in
more ways than one. He feeds off of them. He convinces them that he is their
protector, their
nagual
. The old ways die
hard, and the people fear him but would never cross him. If someone doesn’t
take him out, it will be this way forever.”

Had things been different, this Azazel Priest sounded like
someone the Ripleys would have been eager to take care of.

“Why do you care? You have a nice set-up here too. What’s it
to you what this vampire does?” Oliver couldn’t care less. He just needed Lobo
to keep talking while he planned his next move.

The best lies always held nuggets of truth. Despite his
certainty that at least half of what Lobo said was bullshit, he listened carefully
to his reply.