Depraved (Tales of a Vampire Hunter #2) (8 page)

“It’s okay. We’ll get there
when we get there,” Oliver said.

Behind him, an engine revved
as a vehicle came around the corner. He glanced back to make sure they’d left
enough clearance for what sounded like a truck, with its throaty, deep thrum.
Just as he saw the front of a big SUV round the corner, he realized he’d left
their bag and weapons in the car.

He nudged Miranda backward,
farther away from the pavement as tingles of nervous energy zipped down his
spine.

“What’s wrong?”

“Not sure, just get back.” He
pushed her along, his hand in the middle of her back.

The truck’s engine seemed
jet-engine loud. It was almost past them. He couldn’t see the driver. The
windows were tinted black. Oliver held his breath. He looked around, half
expecting to see a black dog or bats swooping down on them. Get a grip, he told
himself, bumping into Miranda when she stopped close to the cliff’s edge.

“This is as far as I can—”
Her hand flew to her mouth.

Oliver looked back just in
time to see the huge truck swerve and slam into the back of their piece of crap
little Honda, pushing it right off the cliff. The car tumbled end over end,
metal crumpling, tires popping off, glass shimmering in the setting sun, and
came to rest atop an outcropping of trees about 500 yards below the road.

The SUV stopped, its tires on
the gravel just on the edge of the cliff, but now it backed up, sending gravel
spewing from its wheels. The driver put it back in drive and hit the gas,
rocketing straight at them.

“Run!” Oliver yelled, shoving
Miranda into the road.

Across the road, thankfully empty of
oncoming cars, a shallow crevice cut through the sheer rock wall. Miranda
headed for it, her feet slipping as she tried to climb.

She fell flat, grunting, but came quickly to her feet again,
grabbing spindly branches of the bushes growing from cracks in the rock and
using them to pull herself up.

Oliver was right behind her. He turned his face to avoid
being hit by the pebbles and dirt she kicked loose as she crawled up the face
of the mountainside.

Behind them, car doors slammed and voices shouted in
Spanish.

“Keep going!” he said when Miranda stopped, her belly
against the hill.

“I can’t! It’s too steep!” She tried, hefting herself up,
tearing bushes as she went.

Above them, the crevice narrowed and the rock above them
formed an overhang. No way could they get past it without ropes and climbing
equipment.

Their pursuers didn’t even try to come after them. One of
them lit a cigarette as if he knew they’d have to come back down eventually.
The other man smiled when his eyes met Oliver’s.

“
Volver a bajar pollos
,”
he shouted.

Chickens. Oliver understood that word. His heart pounded.
Rage filled him. These were not vampires or vampire hunters, not mythical Aztec
creatures. They were ordinary humans. Did they even know what they chased?

Oliver reached up and grabbed Miranda’s ankle, pressing it
into the rock.

“Stop.” He climbed up to rest alongside her, his face even
with hers.

They held onto the bushes and stayed where they were, about
fifty feet above the men. Once again, they were trapped with few options.

Blood ran down Miranda’s legs where she’d cut them on the
sharp rock. Her arms quivered.

“
Clo, clo, clo
,” the
smoker taunted from below.

Oliver had no clue what that meant, but could tell by the
man’s tone it wasn’t encouraging.

“We can’t go any higher.” Oliver spoke quietly. “They’re
human, so we have options.”

She nodded, anger giving her features the determined look
he’d seen before, her mouth in a hard line.

“We can hang on and stay here, but eventually they’ll come
after us. Probably after dark, maybe with others. Or we can go down there and
kick their asses.”

“I don’t like either option,” she said.

“Can you read their thoughts?” He didn’t like the options
either, but they had to keep thinking, no matter how hopeless things might
seem.

“Only Spanish. Should have bought that learn to speak
Spanish book.” She managed a wry smile.

Oliver slid his right hand between them, finding a loose
rock about the size of his palm. Turning his body slightly to the side, lifting
his knee to block the view from below, he urged the stone into Miranda’s hand
and found another for himself.

“Put it in your pocket. We’re going down. Stop when I do.”

“Then what?”

“Get your rock ready. Don’t let them see it. Then, we’ll
jump. I’ll signal when it’s time. Try to land on one of them. We’ll have
surprise on our side. Now would be an excellent time to channel that inner
vampire like you did in Paris.”

“I wish I could just make it happen,” she said, frustration
clouding her eyes.

“I bet you can.” He
hoped
she could.

She slipped down the hill. “Oliver!”

He grabbed for her hand, but it was sweaty and slipped from
his grasp. Oliver loosened his hold, letting his body slide painfully over the
rock until he was even with her again and could wrap an arm around her.

“We’ve got to go down. Stay with me.” This time, he didn’t
speak the words but pushed them into her head. He couldn’t risk the men hearing
them. They were only about fifteen feet from the ground now.

Her eyes widened with surprise. They’d talked about it, but
hadn’t gotten round to trying it. They’d been more concerned with blocking
someone from reading their thoughts.

“I love you.”

Oliver heard the words in his head as if he wore headphones.

“I love you.”

Her smile told him she’d heard him.

“
Aquí pollitos.
” The
man’s tone was harder now. It wouldn’t be long before they got tired of waiting
and came up after them.

“We’re coming down!” Oliver shouted, putting a little fear
into his voice. It wasn’t hard to do.

They made their way slowly down the cliff side. Just out of
arm’s reach of the men, Oliver stopped, his gaze locking onto Miranda’s.

“
Todo el camino. No le haremos
daño
.” The men moved closer, looking up at them.

“Whatever,” Miranda said, rolling her eyes at Oliver.

He chuckled, leaning over as if whispering something as he
slid a hand over her hip.

She wiggled, turning into him, getting her rock set in her
hand again. One of the men made a jump for Miranda’s foot, but she was faster
than him and lifted it out of his reach.

The distraction allowed Oliver to get his rock ready too.
Pushing his voice into her mind, he said, “Go!”

They shoved themselves away from the rock. Oliver kicked his
legs out and clipped the larger man on the side of his face before landing
right on top of him.

Miranda wasn’t as lucky; she fell straight down and hit the
pavement hard. The smaller of the two men was on her before she could get up,
but wasn’t prepared for the rock that slammed into his nose.

“
Puta mierda
!” he
grunted.

Oliver had his hands full with the struggling man beneath
him. Despite the gash on his head, dripping blood onto his shirt, the big man
had managed to grab him by the throat with both hands and Oliver’s sweaty hands
were no help pulling them free.

“Fucker!” Miranda yelled.

Oliver heard the sound of a fist hitting flesh. His heart
sank. He clawed at the large man’s hands as the world began to spin around him
and stars floated in front of his eyes. Jesus, he was going to black out.

He slammed his knee into the choker’s groin and rolled to
the side. His arm twisted beneath him and a sharp jolt of pain stabbed his
shoulder. Rocks dug into his arm and face, but he twisted anyway, spiking his fingers
and stabbing them into his attacker’s eye as he rolled atop him and reached for
his throat again.

“
Joder
!” the man
yelled, covering his eyes and trying to sit up.

Oliver tried to stand. Pushing himself up, his arm gave out
delivering another jolt of pain into his shoulder.

“You stay down, fuckface!” Miranda jumped over Oliver,
catching the other man in the cheekbone with a kick that slammed his face back
down to the pavement where he was still, blood oozing from both sides of his
head.

Miranda helped Oliver from the pavement. “I can’t believe we
took them out!” She grinned and wrapped her arms around his neck.

His shoulder thrummed with pain, definitely dislocated. “You
did most of it, Baby.” He hugged her with his good arm. “A regular Buffy the
vampire slayer you were.”

She grinned. “Let’s get the key to their truck and get out
of here.”

Aside from scrapes and bruises on her legs and elbows,
Miranda seemed fine. Thank god, Oliver thought, walking with her to where the
larger of the two men lay. He searched his pockets and came up empty.

“Look on the ground.” He scanned the pebble strewn road
surface.

“Maybe he left them in the truck,” Miranda said.

They walked quickly across the road to where the black truck
sat, its passenger door hanging open. Miranda walked around to that side and
Oliver opened the driver’s side door.

A tall man, with a white gauze bandage on his ear, wearing a
long black leather coat sat behind the wheel. “Looking for these?” he said,
dangling the keys from his fingers.

Miranda screamed.

The back door of the truck flew open on Oliver’s side, and
two men came at him while the other watched.

“You did well, Mr. Ripley, but it’s time to say goodnight,”
the man in the driver’s seat said.

Oliver moved quickly to the front of the truck, heading for
Miranda. Something hard slammed into the back of his head just as he was about
to make the turn to the other side of the vehicle. An explosion of pain lit a
white fire behind his eyes and then the world went black.

When Oliver came to, for one
peaceful moment, he didn’t remember anything. Then, he tried to move his legs
and arms and discovered he couldn’t. He opened his eyes and found himself in
complete darkness. Panic flooded him. Sharp pain jabbed his shoulder when he
struggled against whatever held him down. His mind searched for time and place.
His head throbbed, and waves of dizziness grabbed his consciousness and
promised blissful oblivion if only he’d let himself be pulled under. He closed
his eyes against the pain and the darkness, cursing the fear that sluiced
ice-cold through his veins. Anything could be in here with him. Wherever here
was.

He turned his thoughts away from the fear and the pain and
remembered—Miranda. She’d screamed. He hadn’t been able to get to her before
the trap was sprung. He saw the scene on the mountain road and everything that
had led up to it all in one flash that filled him with dread and anger. Where
was she? Had they hurt her?

He strained to see in the darkness, but couldn’t make out
any variation in the blackness that smelled like stone and dirt, not even a
shadow. His ears strained to pick up noise. When he concentrated, he heard a
slow drip of water coming from someplace far off, a squeak that made him think
of bats, and a scrabbling noise that could have been anything but made him
think of cockroaches and rats, toenails clicking as they moved stealthily in
the utter darkness. Bad memories hammered his mind, reminding him of the last
time he’d been someone’s prisoner in the catacombs of Paris.

“Miranda?” he said, his voice cracking.

God, he was thirsty. How long had he been here? Where was
here?

No answer from Miranda or anyone else. He tried what he’d
done on the mountainside, reaching out with his thoughts, thinking of her, praying
she wasn’t dead and was close enough to hear him.
Miranda?

Nothing. No answering voice
spoken or heard, just endless blackness that succeeded this time in closing
over him. He passed out.

*****

When he came to again, it felt like much time had passed, but
it could have been only minutes. Time had no meaning with no references, no
sunlight or moonlight, no routine, nothing familiar to ground him. The only
thing that had changed was the light. Now, there was a candle, held high,
casting its dancing, orange light over his face, so bright he squinted. The
person carrying the candle was shrouded in dark shadows Oliver’s eyes could not
penetrate. The Grim Reaper, he thought.

He opened his mouth to speak, tasting the iron tang of blood
on his dry tongue. No words came out, only a weak croak. What was the point?
What would he ask that would be answered? He closed his eyes and turned his
head to the wall. Better to save his energy for when they took the bindings
from him.

“
El respeto al derecho
ajeno es la paz
.” The voice was female, not the voice of doom to match his
fevered imagination at all. She sounded young. There was a hint of something
like sadness in her tone.

“I don’t speak Spanish,”
Oliver said, his voice barely making it above a whisper. “I’m tired. Go away.”

The specter put the candle on
a table. It was a taper, in a holder that glinted in the faint light. Gold or
brass, Oliver’s brain informed him, like it mattered.

“
Agua
,” the girl said,
leaning over him, offering a small cup.

That he understood. Water.
Yes. He lifted his head and let her tip the rim of the cup to his lips.

She was careful, dribbling
droplets of life-giving water into his mouth, past dry lips, washing away the
blood taste. His belly rumbled and churned.