Depraved (Tales of a Vampire Hunter #2) (12 page)

“Six days,” Lobo said.

“You said a doctor looked at her. He must have done
something. How could she survive like this?”

She looked like some princess in a goddamned fairy tale. Not
a hair out of place, her lips cherry red, her short hair full and alive. Even
her fake tan had not faded. Her skin was supple and golden in color, healthy
looking.

“He tried, but her veins refused needles, closing faster
than he could get fluids to flow into them as if she somehow managed to control
her body. He said she would die and yet each day she remained, just like this.
Not dead, not alive. Both of you have remarkable healing ability and a control
over your bodies unlike anything he’s seen before, even among my walking dead.”

Oliver’s brow wrinkled. Could she really be doing this to
herself? Putting herself in a coma induced by fear or grief or an instinctual
survival instinct? Had his strong, brave, take-no-prisoners girl given up?

“Leave us,” Oliver said. “Don’t come back in or I’ll kill
you.” His voice was deadly, hard, and left no room for argument.

Lobo laid a hand on Oliver’s shoulder. “No one shall enter.
If you require anything, anything at all, you need only open the door. I will
keep one of my servants posted to serve you.”

To stand guard was more like it, Oliver thought. He nodded
at the man who still might prove to be of some use to him and Miranda.

Lobo left, and Oliver did not hear the key turning in the
lock.

A burning candle sat on the table beside the bed. A supply
of tapers rested in a box next to it. The table also held a carafe of water and
a glass. The room was chilly, the rock walls seeping moisture, but when Oliver
touched Miranda’s head, he found it warm. Velvet quilts and heavy cotton
blankets had been piled atop her. Someone had tucked her in, the way one would
a child, the covers pulled up and revealing only her throat and head.

“Miranda?” Oliver spoke softly, his lips almost brushing
hers.

When she did not respond, he stood and removed his clothing.
He pulled the heavy blankets back, finding white sheets beneath. Miranda was
naked. Someone had taken her clothing away, the way they had his. White hot
rage hit him like a flash-flood at the thought of someone undressing her,
touching her. He pushed it aside and told himself it had been the doctor or
someone kind like Adonia. After he’d slid in beside her and covered them both
again, creating a snug cocoon of warmth, he ran his hands over her body,
watching her face for any sign of injury, any pain.

Nothing. She lay as still as a corpse.

Again, Oliver reached into her mind. He closed his eyes and
forced every thought or emotion away except the love he had for her, letting
her know he was here. He was met with utter darkness, not unlike what he’d
found when he’d tried to dip into Adonia and Lobo’s minds.

Resting his head close to hers on the pillow, he ran his
fingertips over her eyelids and brows, down over the sweet curve of her nose
and upper lip. Tracing her fuller bottom lip, his insides clenched, thinking
back to the day they’d stood on the cliff, and he’d felt the power such a small
thing as the way her features were arranged on her face had to make him ache
with desire. How could the shape of her mouth, and the set of her eyes, and the
dimple that only appeared when she was especially playful, tug at his heart so
much that he could barely think? Why hadn’t he told her when he’d had the
chance?

He closed his eyes, flooded with useless thoughts, regrets
stinging his heart. None of it will do her any good now, he told himself,
stilling his mind, pushing all of it away. He loved her, and that was all that
mattered. It was all he had.

He’d struggled when she’d asked him to express his love in
words, when she’d been so forthcoming and vulnerable with her own. But now, he
could show her. He kissed her, closing his eyes and sweeping his lashes over
her cheek. Butterfly kisses. She’d said her mom believed they’d make everything
okay. His tongue traced a path along the vein in her throat that pulsed with
life and told him that she was in there, somewhere, alive. His heart, his soul,
his other half.

“Come back to me.” He whispered the words in her ear, his
voice catching as powerful emotions swept through him.

He couldn’t lose her now.

He drew the sheets and the blankets back, resting his head
on his folded arm, lying on his side and pressing his naked body close to hers.
Gently, he ran his palm over her body, between her breasts, over her stomach,
and lower to the apex of her thighs, gently pushing them apart. As he touched
her with his fingers and his lips, he touched her with his mind and, drawing
from within himself, he pulled forth the vampire hunter’s fundamental nature,
calling upon that magic ability that had the power to make the hunter
irresistible to anyone they turned it on. If there was an inner dial, a control
for what he had within him to seduce, he turned it to eleven, energy thrumming
in his veins, love pouring from him. The downy hairs on his body stood on end.
With every bit of himself, he concentrated on her, on her heart, the place she
had been so sure the soul resided in all things, vampire, and human.

His cock grew long and thick, resting against her hip, but
he pushed his growing need aside, thinking only of her as he caressed her still
body, kissed her lips, and whispered every word he should have told her before.

“I love you. You are my heart. The part of me I never knew
was missing until you showed me. You gave me the world in just your smile,” he
said as he ruffled the soft nest of hair between her legs, dipping a finger
into her, finding her pulsing with warmth at her core.

He eased himself down her body, kissing a path along her
ribs, licking the gentle curve of her belly, drifting his mouth over her
hipbones and nuzzling that delectable place where her flesh split to reveal a
sweet, pink opening.

Parting her with the fingers of one hand, he sucked the nub
of flesh he found swelling, tonguing it and licking slowly, then flickering
faster, sighing with pleasure at the taste of her.

He loved her with his mouth and his fingers and whispered
words of love, pushing his very essence into her and groaning when she finally
stirred, the faintest of sighs coming to his ears like an angel’s choir.

Once more he sought her aura, remembering the rainbow
shimmers he’d seen when they’d made love before and how he’d been able to give
her some of his own being while only taking the tiniest sip of hers.

Only a dim glow surrounded her at first, muddy brown and
barely moving. He pushed his own aura into her along with his fingers and
tongue and love. Soon the blue purple of his spirit swirled with hers. He gave
her so much of himself that he began to shake, his own pleasure peaking though
he had not touched himself, spilling on the sheets beneath him.

“Oliver.” Her fingers moved and clutched at his hair as her
hips began to move.

“Yes, Baby, I’m here.” The tears he’d held back finally
spilled over as he made her come and saw the rainbow shimmers of her aura burst
into life, dancing with his soul, joining them again.

When her quivers subsided, he moved up to lie beside her,
cradling her head to his chest. He kissed her when she looked up at him with
blue eyes overflowing with tears and so much love it made his heart clench.

“I thought I’d lost you,” he said, wrapping his arms around
her.

“You could never lose me. We’re bound, here.” She took his
hand and pulled it to her heart, the way she had so many times before.

This time he felt the connection between them, the way she
must have all along. “You’re part of me,” he said.

“And you’re part of me. I felt you this time, saw what you
did the other times we made love. It was so beautiful.” She kissed him,
breathing hope and life back into him as her lips parted his and her arms wound
around him to hold him close.

He’d expected something wondrous to happen when they’d made
love before, after all they’d been told about what might happen should they
join, but he’d not seen then that it already had happened—they’d made magic
together then and even more now.

“Nothing can ever change that. Not in this world, or the
next,” she said as if she’d looked into his mind and read what was there, his
every thought and emotion.

Oliver thought of what was to come and wanted nothing more
than to stay here forever, where nothing could ever hurt her again.

“But that cannot be,” she said, her voice calm and soothing.

“Are you reading my mind again?” he asked, giving her a
smile that said he no longer cared, telling her that his mind was as open as
the rest of him to their love and to her.

“I’m reading your
heart
,
my love.”

She’d changed somehow. Her aura was
now purest silver with a white ring, only an outward sign of what Oliver felt
over the next several hours they spent alone together. She was centered and
focused. Zen-like, he thought.

“What happened? Did they hurt you?”

“I remember seeing the men, knowing we couldn’t get away
this time. Then, I was asleep but could hear them. I knew you were dying. I
felt
it.” Tears shimmered in her eyes. “And I remembered
the way some of the old vampires rested, sort of going into themselves. Not
dead, not alive. The pain . . . of losing you kept me in that dark, safe place.
Then, you were here.”

Oliver held her for a long time. “Would you have stayed in
that place?” He couldn’t bear the thought of it, of what might have happened to
her had he died.

She shook her head, kissing him softly. “No. I was angry. I
would have come back and kicked all their asses for what they did to you.” She
smiled, her eyes sparkling with life.

“That’s my girl.” He hugged her as tight as he dared.

Oliver told her about Lobo and the vampire Azazel Priest,
and about what Lobo wanted Oliver to do in exchange for their freedom.

“Then this is what we must do, what we
will
do,” she said, in a voice that was calm and
carried no hint of doubt or fear.

“He says he’ll help us, afterwards, to get away safely, to
find someplace we can go where they won’t find us.”

“Maybe he will.” She turned and faced him in the big bed,
her fingers light on the back of his neck.

“And, maybe he won’t,” he said.

“No matter what, all will be well. In some things, our
choices make no difference, so all we can do is follow our hearts. Yours seems
to be telling you this is our best chance.”

Oliver nodded, mesmerized by her soft blue eyes and soothing
voice, some of her calm washing over him. “For now. It will get us out of here
safely.”

She smiled, and the dimple he adored appeared in her cheek.
“We can decide our next step once we’re away from here, once you’ve met your father.”

He nodded, a frown crinkling his brow. That was a whole
other wrinkle. After a childhood longing for his absent father, only to find
out his father might really be just some donated vampire sperm, now he was
faced with the idea of a real person. A
vampire
who’d given him life. And he was supposed to kill him. Hell, he’d been raised
to
want
to kill creatures like him.
Conflicting emotions stirred in him that he couldn’t quite reconcile. If it
hadn’t been for Miranda’s unwavering ability to help him cut through his own
bullshit, he didn’t know if he would have been able to do more than shove all
these emotions inside where they’d have festered. Instead, after hours spent
talking everything through with her, he knew he could face whatever happened next
and would not let the hurt, confused longings of the boy he had been control
his actions or his heart.

“While I was sleeping,” she said, “I had a dream. A long,
beautiful dream, only it was more than a dream somehow . . . like a glimpse
into a future we could have. There was a small house by the ocean. We played in
the surf like children and made love for hours.”

“I like the sound of that.” He smiled down at her, snuggling
her closer to him.

She laughed, her eyes twinkling. “The love we felt was
alive, like a bubble around us, keeping everything away. The past didn’t matter
anymore. We lived only in the here and now, the way you always said we should.
We were happy. And there was a little girl, later. A child with my wild red
hair and your violet eyes.”

“I want to give those things to you.”

His heart warmed as if he’d seen the dream for himself and
believed in it. He quieted the voice within that carried doubt, knowing such
wonderful things may never come to pass for them.

“I believe we’ll create that reality for ourselves,
together. It really was more than a dream, as silly as that might sound. I know
it in my heart. I’m sure whatever path we take will lead us there.” Her eyes
were intent on his as if she wanted to give him some of her calm and surety but
knew she could not.

Unable to quiet his unease and concern, knowing he would do
whatever it took to make her dreams come true, he only nodded, taking strength
in the knowledge that her belief in him might just be enough to make it so. He
felt stronger already, knowing she was all right and had managed to work
through her own demons.

“Nothing’s going to happen if we stay in this bed. You need
food and more water, and I’d like the doctor to check you out before we leave.”

“I’ve never been hungrier in my life, and I need a shower.
Do they have bathrooms in this place?” She sat up and swung her legs over the
side of the bed.

Oliver jumped up and walked around to help her stand. “Easy
there. You’ve been in bed for days.”

“I’m fine, really. You go rustle up some food, check about
the bath and find my clothes. I’ll wait, promise.” She eased herself back,
sitting up in bed, her hands folded in her lap.

Lobo had posted someone outside the door who ran off to get
everything Oliver asked for. Soon, a small table had been set up in the room,
laden with a feast big enough to feed ten people.

Adonia came, smiling shyly at Miranda, bearing clothing.
Snug black jeans, a black t-shirt and hoodie. Even the boots were miniature
versions of the ones they’d provided for Oliver. She also carried a red silk
robe.

“
Gracias
,” Miranda
said.

“
Mi placer hermosa señora
,”
Adonia said softly, her gaze darting to Oliver before she left.

“I think she has a little
crush on you,” Miranda teased, sliding from the bed and putting on the robe,
taking a seat at the table.

Oliver filled her in about
the walking dead and told her what Lobo had shared with him about Adonia and
the others who served him.

“How sad.” Miranda’s eyes
clouded with her emotions.

“If there’s any way, I’d like
to help these people too. Whether his story is true or not, it’s awful thinking
of people being trapped like this in his service for hundreds of years.”

“We’ll find a way,” Miranda
said with her new confidence that anything they set their minds to could be
made a reality.

After Miranda ate and drank until she said she couldn’t fit
anything else into her belly, Adonia returned and took them to a stone room fed
by a waterfall. The pool it formed was small and the water surprisingly warm,
like an underground spring. Piled in an alcove were fluffy towels. The place
was lit by candles in sconce holders lining the walls. Once more, Oliver
thought if the situation were different, he’d be enthralled by this place.

“No reason not to enjoy it. It is spectacular.” Miranda let
the robe slide from her body and puddle on the stone floor.

“Yes, it is spectacular.” His gaze swept over her from head
to toe.

Taking her by the hand, he led her into the warm water. Soap
and toiletries in baskets lined the edge of one side of the pool. They helped themselves.
Miranda selected something with a flowery scent, and he picked something more
manly with a hint of what she told him was sandalwood. After floating for a
while, she dunked under and wet her hair.

“Let me,” he said, filling his palm with shampoo and washing
her hair.

He’d never done something like that for a woman and was
surprised at what an intimate thing it was. As his fingers slid through her
short hair and massaged her scalp, he thought of the dream she’d told him about
and of the child they might one day have together. The love he felt for Miranda
in that tender moment seemed akin to the love he imagined he’d have for their
child someday. He gently bathed the rest of her, smiling as she floated back
against him and closed her eyes.

She returned the favor, washing his body with hands that
skimmed his skin and made him shiver, and then they made love, though they did
it quietly, mindful that someone may be standing guard outside, or could come
check on them anytime.

Miranda giggled from the effort of being silent, burying her
face in his shoulder and clinging to him, unable to hold back her moans of
pleasure at the end.

Once more, their auras swirled around them, the colors
blending into rainbow hues. He shared his with her, knowing she saw it and felt
it too this time. She shared hers just as willingly, giving him a part of
herself. When it was over, he’d taken in some of her calm and knew they both
felt stronger and more bonded than ever before.

“I don’t care if they did hear,” she said, looking at him
with eyes softened by love. “That was incredible.”

Oliver chuckled, helping her from the pool and wrapping a
towel around her shoulders. “Me either. In fact, I think we should start making
love anywhere we want, the hell with anyone who might be around,” he teased,
drying himself off.

She laughed as she dressed. “I don’t know if I’m quite ready
for that.”

The mood sobered as they left the cozy, spa-like cave. As
suspected, a man waited in the hall. Though his dark eyes gave away nothing,
Miranda blushed and hid her face in the crook of Oliver’s shoulder.

Oliver laughed softly and kissed the top of her head. “I
thought you didn’t care who knew what we were doing in there?”

She swatted his arm and turned an even brighter shade of
red.

Their guard smiled at them. They followed him back through
the tunnel, past the bedroom that Miranda had occupied and into the larger cave
Oliver had seen before.

“Wow! This place is something else,” Miranda said, looking
around with wide, wonder filled eyes. “Check out the size of that fireplace.”
She moved to it and held her hands out toward the flames that filled it.

“Lobo said this is the deepest cave in Mexico. I bet it goes
on for miles.”

“I guess that’s fitting for a dude who claims he works for
the devil, ushering souls to the underworld.” Her gaze darted around, taking it
all in.

For the first time since she’d awakened, Oliver saw a hint
of worry in her eyes. Moving to stand beside her in front of the roaring fire,
he took her hand. “Whatever,” he said, taking a page from her book, winking.

She laughed softly and gave his hand a squeeze. “Whatever.”

Oliver wished again that the world
would back off and leave them alone for a bit longer. He ached for a time when
they could just be together, without someone chasing them or shoving them into
corners they had to claw their way out of. He enjoyed these last moments of
calm before the storm he knew was coming.

“Ah, Miss Miranda! I am so glad to see you up and about and
looking so fit,” Lobo said, appearing as if he’d been summoned, walking around
the giant boulder. “I am Micah Lobo.”

Miranda stiffened against Oliver. “Hello, Mr. Lobo,” she
said, her tone wary, but pleasant.

“I understand you have eaten, bathed, and are ready to
depart,” Lobo said, his dark eyes still on Miranda.

“We are,” Oliver said, drawing Lobo’s gaze back to him.

“Good, good. We only need to work out a few details, and
then my men will escort you out and make sure you get where you need to go.”

Oliver knew Lobo would leave as little to chance as
possible, ensuring Oliver and Miranda ended up on Azazel Priest’s doorstep if
possible.

“Yes, like what we can expect when we get there. Weapons
would be nice,” Oliver said dryly.

Lobo nodded and called out, “
Traer
la bolsa
.”

Adonia hurried in carrying a backpack. She handed it to
Oliver.

“Our bag!” Miranda said.

“My men recovered it from your car. The gun and daggers are
in there, your passports, money. I added extra, so when the job is finished
you’ll have enough to get wherever you wish to go. I took the liberty of
replacing the bullets in your pistol with ones made of silver,” Lobo said.

Next to him, Oliver felt the anger rolling off Miranda. It
seemed her calm wasn’t completely unflappable, though she did manage to hold
her tongue.

Glancing at Adonia, he saw her aura had once more turned the
muddy gray color and pulsed with what looked to him like a warning.

“Fuc—” Miranda said, stopping as Oliver cut her off.

“Thank you. Let’s get on with it. Tell us what we need to
know,” he said.

Lobo nodded, though his posture stiffened. Had he really
expected Miranda to show him gratitude for his “gifts”? Oliver knew that though
she might eventually come to be thankful for the kind things Lobo had done,
that day wasn’t today when all she could see was the predicament he’d put them
in.

Behind him, the man who’d escorted them from the bath came
in, carrying a large, black bag.

Lobo opened it and drew out a sword. “You will take these,”
he said handing it to Oliver. He gave another, smaller one to Miranda. “They
are forged of Aztec silver, engraved with words said to act like a talisman for
the warrior who carries them, protecting them from evil spirits. I do not
believe in such things, but they may bring you some comfort.”

“It’s beautiful.” Miranda held the sword in two hands,
admiring the handle and running a fingertip over the sharp edge.

“You’ll need these too.” Lobo handed them each a harness
that would allow them to carry the swords on their backs. “And these.” Next, he
pulled two smaller knives from the bag, similar in style to the daggers they’d
bought in Oaxaca.

“They too are ancient. The one who made them had his metal
works blessed by the God of War himself, it is said. These you can hide under
your jackets in the shoulder strap.” He gave them each one and Adonia helped
Miranda fit hers, holding her jacket until she was finished, adjusting the
straps that held the longer sword on her back.