Depraved (Tales of a Vampire Hunter #2)

Tales

of a

Vampire Hunter #2

Zander
Vyne

Published by Full Sail Publishing

Chicago,
IL 60602

December,
2013

©
Zander Vyne

Cover
design by D.J. Rogers:
http://www.bookdomme.com

All
Rights Reserved.

There were no vampires on the
airplane. Still, Oliver Ripley didn’t relax his guard until the seatbelt light
went out and the flight attendant began serving cocktails. He ordered two.

Miranda sat next to the window, her eyes smudged with shadows
underneath and turned to the clouds outside.

Oliver covered her hand with his. Her fingers were cold, and
she didn’t respond to his touch.

An impatient flight attendant cleared her throat. “Peanuts?”

“Vodka for her too. Ice, please,” Oliver said. “No peanuts,
thanks.”

He hadn’t eaten since Paris. Already, yesterday seemed like
a lifetime ago. He’d had a crepe purchased from a street-vendor. Miranda had
been too upset to eat. Later, captured and thrown like dogs into cells, no one
had asked if they were hungry. After that, they’d been on the run. No time for
food.

They’d escaped—had heard and done crazy, impossible
things—and Miranda had killed his brother.

“I’m sorry about Jonathan,” Miranda said, her voice
trembling.

She still didn’t look at him and didn’t have to tell Oliver
that she’d read his troubled mind. She could pick up his thoughts as if they
were broadcast whenever he was upset. Just one more thing some vampires could
do that made them so dangerous.

“He deserved to die,” Oliver said and, though it was true,
he felt a twinge of sadness.

It was hard to let go of old beliefs, hard to let go of
family. His brother was gone. His mother was dead to him now. She’d probably
already sent her assassins—vampires and vampire hunters— after them.

“Yes,” Miranda said, still not looking at him, her fingers
unmoving under his hand.

Oliver didn’t know if she was agreeing that Jonathan had
gotten what was coming to him or if she was reading his mind again and agreeing
with his assumption about the killers on their tail. He dipped into her mind
with his new-found ability and found a whirl-wind of scattered, broken, and
confused thoughts. Mostly, Miranda wanted answers and wanted them now. She was
a kick ass and take names later sort of person and desperately wanted to find
order in the chaos that had suddenly become her life.

Oliver couldn’t give her what she wanted, couldn’t explain
why she’d suddenly developed vampire abilities when she’d always been so
different from the other Vladula vampires before. He couldn’t explain why
vampires and vampire hunters from their families had joined forces to hunt them
down. He couldn’t make sense of anything for either of them.

Miranda rested her head against the high-backed seat and
closed her eyes. “How soon until they find us?” she asked as if there was no
doubt they’d be tracked down no matter how cleverly they’d tried to hide their
tracks when they’d fled Paris.

Everyone they’d trusted had lied to them, hurt people they
loved, and tried to kill them. Oliver wouldn’t say meaningless words just to
give her a temporary Band-Aid for her pain.

“Soon, I imagine.” He poured two tiny bottles of vodka over
the ice in his plastic cup and drank it down like water.

She nodded, still not looking at him, and gave his hand a
gentle squeeze. “No matter where we go, they’ll find us.”

Maybe not, Oliver thought, a bit of the old optimist wanting
to believe it. But he knew as well as she did there was nowhere to hide,
nowhere to run, no one who would help them or shield them. All they had now was
each other.

“Maybe it’s enough,” she said, reading his thoughts again.
“They did all this, joined together, planned for years, killed . . . for what
some of them thought we might be able to do all by
ourselves
.” She opened her eyes, such pretty
blue eyes, dry and all cried out now.

Oliver tucked his head next to hers, not letting go of her
hand. “And now we’re together.” Half vampire, half vampire hunter; they were
mutants unlike any others on earth.

“Together. Different. Alike. And, for now, safe. Alone.”
Miranda’s voice slurred as if she’d been the one to drink the vodka.

“With time to figure out what we’re capable of doing.”
Oliver matched her quiet whisper.

He cupped her cheek, gently kissing her lips as they moved
beneath his.

“Time to prepare,” she said as if reciting a pact or words
to a prayer.

“Time to fight,” he answered, watching her eyes drift
closed.

“Time to . . .” Her body slumped against him as sleep
finally overpowered her nervous energy and worries.

Die, Oliver thought, glad she wasn’t awake to hear it.

He closed his eyes, unable to
fight off the insistent tug of sleep any longer. Still trying to find answers
that were not there, he dreamed of vampires and vampire hunters.

*****

They landed in Mexico City and made
it past the officials with no problems, despite their hastily altered
passports.

Cab drivers swarmed the terminal and sidewalk. “You need
ride? I take you anywhere you want to go, cheap,” they all offered as if each
had read the same guide to picking up American tourists.

Oliver ignored them, holding Miranda’s hand and tugging her
along. His eyes shifted left and right, scanning the crowd. He wasn’t taking
any more chances. He might not have all the answers, but he was coming up with
plans anyway.

They’d been careful in Paris, selling their tickets, credit
cards and cell phones, doctoring the new tickets they bought and their
passports, not using any of the money Miranda’s father had given them when
they’d foolishly thought he’d been on their side and had wanted to help them
escape. As they made their way through the airport, Oliver looked for loose
ends the vampires and hunters could have walked through to beat them here. He
found none.

“You thought of everything,” Miranda said.

“Don’t do that.” His voice was hard. Impatient. He needed to
think without the needy grab of her mental fingers digging into his brain.

“I’m sorry.” Wounded, her voice was small, childish. Unlike
her.

Oliver’s temper flared. “Stop apologizing. None of this is
your fault.”

“I know, but—”

“Enough.” He kept moving, faster now, angry.

We’ll talk later, the old Oliver wanted to say. The new
Oliver kept Miranda’s hand locked tightly in his own and said nothing more,
glad she fell silent and did as she was told.

Outside, the sun was shining. Horns honked, tourists milled
about, and Oliver and Miranda lost themselves in the crowded streets around the
airport.

In a rough-looking neighborhood full of squat, square houses
with flat roofs and colorful signs in a language neither of them could read,
they traded Oliver’s watch for a tiny, four-cylinder car with balding tires and
a quarter of a tank of gas and headed south.

They paid for gas with too many American dollars and only
later did Oliver think of how stupid that had been, how everywhere they went,
they were leaving a trail. Rude Americans, always in a hurry, a woman with
flaming red hair and a man with long hair who looked tense and hard. A rare
watch, valuable and precious, traded for a crappy car with no title. Obvious.
Sticking out. Stupid.

He needed to start thinking straight, think for the both of
them, stop reacting and start planning. Food first. He pulled into a gas
station, used the restroom, and asked the man behind the counter about the road
ahead as any normal tourist might do. He bought a map and a guide book, Fritos,
candy bars and water. He leaned casually against the car and pretended to look
at his map and not at the restroom door that had closed behind Miranda. He
didn’t appear to notice the men who hung around the garage, or the way the man
behind the counter’s gaze had followed Miranda, but he did.

He grit his teeth to keep from yelling at Miranda to hurry
the fuck up when she came strolling out of the restroom after what seemed like
an eternity.

She leaned a hip into the car and took one of the candy bars
from him, tearing off the wrapping and licking the chocolate that had already
started to melt in the warm, Mexican sun.

“We need to find a bigger town and a store,” Oliver said.

She didn’t ask him why.

Good, she was learning. Act, not react. Do what needed to be
done and forget the rest.

They went south, leaving Mexico City behind. On and on they
drove, finally finding what he was looking for in a town that would have been
considered small anywhere else—a large market that might have been a Wal-Mart
had it not been for the crates of chickens in front of the store next to the
bottled water and suntan lotion display.

They bought brown hair dye, cheap, white canvas sneakers for
her and fake leather deck shoes for him. T-shirts, shorts, scissors, and lotion
with self-tanner. Bronzer, makeup, more snacks and water. Money dwindling.

They stopped for the night at a small hotel that was the
sort of place an American would gravitate to with a McDonald’s next door.
Without discussing it, they got a room on the second floor and pushed the
dresser against the door before stripping off their clothes and falling onto
the narrow bed, curling around one another, their disguises still in the bags.

“I love you, Baby,” he said, wrapping his arms around her, a
wave of protectiveness washing over him as he held her close.

She rested her head on his chest. “I know,” she whispered,
her lips moving against his neck.

They made love, and he didn’t try to stop the vampire hunter
in him from responding to the vampire in her. Though genetically half and half,
perhaps a life-time of being told he was a vampire hunter overpowered science.
As Miranda succumbed to desire and welcomed him into her body, her aura grew
into a cloud he saw around her. Glowing bluish-purple light containing the
essence of what made Miranda who she was engulfed him. He could have snuffed
out that bright light forever. He could have taken her very soul and
extinguished it, the way generations of Ripley vampire hunters had done to the
vampires they seduced. He could have killed her. Instead, he loved her. He held
her body and soul close and let go of his own spirit, sharing his strength with
her until she cried out in pleasure and the worries fled her mind.

Later, he held her close as she slept. He was glad she
hadn’t wanted to talk after. There’d be time for that later. First, he needed
to get it together. Put the past behind him, along with the pain and worry.
Figure out what to do next. How to keep them alive. For now, it was enough that
they were together.

No vampires came for them that night. They’d survived
another day.

Oliver woke, surprised he’d fallen
asleep sometime during the night that had loomed, ominous, and worry-filled.
Every noise could have been death coming. Every silence could have been the end
sneaking up on them. He’d hardly moved, letting Miranda lay with her head on
his shoulder long after it had fallen asleep, realizing that this might be the
last time he held her in his arms. The day to come would bring more running, more
looking over their shoulders. There would be little time to enjoy their
new-found love for one another.

It made him angry. They’d been bred as a crazy experiment,
for what purpose they still didn’t know, might never know. Yet, they’d managed
to find one another, find love in the midst of their lives falling apart all
around them. They should live long enough to enjoy it without the constant fear
that their enemies would catch up with them and take it all away.