Depraved (Tales of a Vampire Hunter #2) (14 page)

He opened the door, got out and stood back to let Miranda
exit. He grabbed the backpack. Holding hands, they walked to the front of the
car where Oliver dropped the bag on the ground next to his feet. Putting their
backs to the grill, they waited. Blinded by headlights, they had no idea what
waited on the other side.

For a long, nerve-wracking moment, all Oliver heard was the
pounding of his own heart, the whir of night insects and the soft purr of the
SUV’s engine. Then, the unmistakable sound of boot heels hitting pavement
reached his ears. Single boot heels.

From the light and darkness beyond came a man, alone. He was
tall, slim. His hair flowed behind him, easily hip length, long and thick and
black as the night around it.

He wore faded jeans and a white cowboy shirt with buttons
that shimmered in the light of the car’s headlights.

He was not at all what Oliver had expected. Was this the
fiercest vampire alive?

“Is that him?” Miranda whispered.

Oliver hoped she had done as he’d told her and locked down
her thoughts the way he had his own, that she hadn’t read the question in his
mind.

“We’ll find out,” he answered in a clipped tone.

When the man was closer, Oliver noted his eyes
first—slightly slanted like his own, but shining with a light of inner serenity
and strength unlike anything he’d ever seen before on anyone, human or vampire.
His features were well-defined, handsome by any standard, and though his nose
was longer and his cheekbones slightly higher, he looked so much like Oliver
that it was disconcerting. There was no doubt this was Azazel Priest. No doubt
that he was indeed, Oliver’s father. Though he’d been told this, there was
something altogether different about standing face to face with him.

Azazel Priest stopped a few feet from Oliver and Miranda.
When he spoke, it was not with the vampire snarl and anger Oliver had expected
either.

All the tenuous plans Oliver had come up with were tossed
aside, and he knew what he was going to do.

“Son,” the vampire said, his voice
filled with the same warm emotion Oliver saw in his eyes.

He looked . . . happy, Oliver thought.

“I cannot tell you how pleased I am to find the rumors are
true,” Azazel continued when Oliver remained silent. “Though you may not be
delighted to see me, I hope you will consider the sources of information that
may have shaped your opinions and that we can talk before you do whatever you
decide to do next.”

Miranda shifted, and her hand moved to rest on the handle of
her dagger. Her gaze did not falter. She was ready to attack.

But presented with his father, in the flesh, Oliver’s
previous ideas wavered. He’d come to a point where he no longer believed
anything he’d been told. Why not give this man a chance to explain himself
before making a choice that could end in death for them all, right here and
right now?

Oliver’s gaze flickered to the lights behind his father. No
telling who or what waited on the other side, only that there were too many to
fight alone. “I don’t suppose you want to have this chat here,” he said, his
voice gruff.

“I’d ask for more than a few moments. We deserve that much,”
Azazel said.

“Oliver—” Miranda started to say something, then stopped,
glancing up at him, her gaze trusting and open to whatever he decided, but
still wary.

“Agreed,” Oliver said, his voice softer, holding faint
surprise at the turn of events. He’d been so sure he wanted nothing more than
to get it over with, taking the only chance he’d seen for him and Miranda to
get away. Now, he was sure that path would only lead to more running and death.
“I understand you live nearby.”

“I would be pleased to welcome you and your friend in my
home. You will be safe there. You have my word,” Azazel said.

Once more, Oliver was struck with the unruffled sincerity in
Azazel’s voice. He let the hold he had on his thoughts loosen, just enough for
him to reach out, across the few feet that divided him from his father. He
dipped into his mind and found it closed to him. No surprise there. The aura surrounding
the vampire was pure, white, open and shimmering with a palpable power. Next to
him, Miranda shivered and he knew she saw and felt it too. This man was not a
typical vampire in any way. His soul did not seem locked in the cage that held
other vampires. Rather, he seemed to be in complete control of his curse, and
at peace with it in a way that went against everything Oliver had ever been
taught about vampires.

“Let Lobo’s men leave without interference, and we’ll come
with you. Make a move for them and the deal’s off,” Oliver said.

Azazel nodded, looking past him to where the cars waited
behind the SUV. He flicked a wrist and the headlights turned immediately as his
posse backed up and then moved slowly past Lobo’s vehicle to wait in front of
the cars behind the vampire.

“They are free to go,” Azazel said.

Oliver walked around to the passenger side of Lobo’s SUV and
opened the door, meeting Barriga’s surprised eyes.

“Go now, while you can. They won’t come after you,” Oliver
said.

“Lobo won’t like it.” Castillo’s unease showed in his
furrowed brow.

“Your orders were to make sure we got to Azazel. You’ve done
that. Now go before he changes his mind.”

Oliver slammed the car door and waited the few moments it
took for Castillo to decide to throw the SUV into reverse, turn around and take
off back down the dark road.

“Let’s go,” Oliver said to Azazel.

As they followed his father to the waiting cars, Miranda
tugged on Oliver’s hand, drawing him down closer so she could speak into his
ear. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

“I’m not sure of anything, Baby. But this is our best move
now. Roll with it.”

“Okay.”

They climbed into the front car and then rode through the
night without speaking. Azazel took the passenger seat next to one of his
men—human. Oliver and Miranda rode in the back. Cars led the caravan and
followed behind. Azazel had come well-prepared. Oliver sensed vampires, humans,
and walking dead.

No one made a move to take their weapons from them, which
was just as well. Oliver wouldn’t have allowed it. He was willing to hear his
father out and curious to learn his side of things, but he wanted to be
prepared to attack should things not be as friendly once they were in Azazel’s
camp.

Miranda was silent beside him and kept a lock on her thoughts
the way he’d told her to do. It was a long, uncomfortable ride through the
mountains, higher than they’d traveled before. They left the main road and the
men had to open a series of gates to let them pass before they finally came to
a stop below a summit in a small clearing.

They exited the vehicle. A stone structure dominated the
clearing. Pyramid shaped, it had steps of rock on the outside that led to a
flat top. Lush vegetation surrounded the building and vines crept up the sides.
The only lights came from the car’s headlights. The jungle all around them was
pure blackness.

Prickles of unease zipped along Oliver’s spine. Had they
just wanted to kill them away from the main road? This place was remote enough
for a mass murder. Oliver remembered the dreams he and Miranda had both had
about vampires and altars running with blood. His own blood ran cold in his
veins.

“This place is creepy.” Miranda’s hand fell to the handle of
her dagger.

“It’s an Aztec temple,” Azazel said. “I suppose it is rather
creepy at night. I think you’ll find it less off-putting inside.” He waved them
on as he moved quickly up the steep steps.

Miranda looked to Oliver with some of the surprise in her
expression that he felt. Again, Azazel was not as they’d expected. His air was
one of lighthearted ease and pride in his home in the jungle.

The vampire’s men moved in behind them, but waited at the
bottom of the steps, easing Oliver’s tension level as it was just him, Azazel,
and Miranda who climbed to the top. Still time to change his mind, still time
to take the vampire out if he made a move for either of them, he thought.

Miranda reached for Oliver’s hand and squeezed it hard. He
didn’t need to read her thoughts to know she was probably thinking the same
thing he was—alone, this high, armed, they could take out Azazel easily.

When they reached the top of the structure, Azazel stopped
with his back to them, gazing up at the moon, which came out from behind a
cloud as if just for him, lighting the top of the temple and casting him in its
glow. He didn’t seem to be in any hurry to go inside.

Standing in the middle of the space was an altar formed from
one flat slab of smooth rock, much darker than the rest of the temple stone.
Despite the sultry night air, Oliver’s skin raised into goose bumps, imagining
it covered in blood that ran from it in a waterfall.

Miranda let go of his hand. They stood back to back,
protecting one another’s flanks, preparing for an attack that Oliver was no
longer sure was coming.

Azazel smiled as he turned to them. “It is good to see the
girl is so loyal. I was not sure what to expect of her. I knew her father, you
see. Never trusted that one. Apologies to you, Dear,” he said, looking at
Miranda.

“Can’t say that I trust him either,” Miranda said.

“We’re not long on trust these days, and that’s not
improving the longer we stand here,” Oliver said.

Azazel nodded. “I understand and do realize the restraint
you’ve shown. I admire it. But you should know that your weapons are no good
here. This is sacred ground, and none may harm me here.”

“Whatever,” Miranda muttered behind Oliver, tension rolling
off of her.

“Is that why you brought us here? To strip us of our weapons
for an easier fight?” Oliver’s voice was hard. “I was under the impression you
were the most powerful vampire in the world.”

Despite the disdain and careless bravado in his tone,
Oliver’s mind had already started calculating the number of steps to the
vampire, the time it would take to get down the other side and their options
once they got there, none of them appealing.

Azazel Priest spread his hands wide, the picture of harmless
innocence, his gaze still filled with the peaceful glow that Oliver had seen on
the road when they’d first met.

“You may keep your human weapons and your supernatural ones.
I have no fear of either. I only wished to warn you about the metaphysical
nature of this place so you would know what to expect. Your weapons will do you
no good.”

Before he’d even finished speaking, lightening quick, Oliver
reached behind him and drew the Aztec sword from its sheath. He stepped away
from Miranda, pushing her behind him as he lunged for his father. The sword cut
the air with a sound like a scream.

Azazel nimbly leaned backward, avoiding the blade that just
missed slitting his throat. Again, he held up his hands as if surrendering to
whatever was to come.

Oliver lunged for his heart when his father did not move
away or fight back, but the blade did not penetrate his chest, it only bent
against him as if made of rubber.

“What the fuck?” Oliver whirled around, slicing the sword
through the air again, aiming at the man’s head.

This time, Azazel didn’t move at all. Yet, once more, the
blade stopped before a killing blow could be made. It was as if an invisible
force field held it back. Oliver felt the electricity of whatever it was that
protected his father zinging up the silver sword and through his arms.

“Bravo, Son,” Azazel said. When he smiled, his expression
was as serene as ever. “I would have been disappointed if you had not tested
what I told you. I would expect no less from one of my blood. Now, if you are
content that at least thus far I have been honest with you, shall we go?”

Miranda stood with her sword in hand, her eyes wide with
surprise.

“All we have between us is honor, Oliver. I intend the night
to end with that intact. Come, let us talk. There will be time for another
attack later should you decide that’s what you wish after you hear what I have
to say,” Azazel said, his voice full of good humor.

The man’s lighthearted tone started a tick in Oliver's jaw,
and his pride fought it out with caution and good sense. Why hadn’t Lobo warned
him that his weapons would not work in Azazel’s lair? Had he expected the
battle to end on the road, with Oliver and Miranda as dead as his men? Had
everything he’d said been a lie? So many questions and only one hope of getting
any answers.

“Take us inside,” Oliver said, sheathing his sword and
reaching for Miranda’s hand.

“Come. Stand within the circle.”
Azazel held out his hands.

The stones on the ground in front of the altar were arranged
in a spiral pattern within a circle of larger stones, each one carved with a
crude symbol similar to the ones on their swords and daggers.

Miranda didn’t protest, moving to stand in the circle as
Azazel instructed. They both hesitated before reaching out and taking the
vampire’s hands in theirs, forming a circle within the circle.

Azazel’s fingers were warm, another surprise. He smiled as
they linked their fingers together.

“
Ma yan moyoliuh quimati in antepilhuan in anquauhtin
amo celo ca mochipan titocnihuan, zancuel achic nican timochitonyazque o ye
ichano
,” he said.

Though the words had a song-like quality to the cadence, the
tone Azazel used was strident, diffident even, and harsh to Oliver’s ears. The
language was like nothing he’d ever heard and not at all like the lilting
Spanish he’d grown used to. Azazel didn’t translate.

If this was the spell needed to open the door, Oliver
thought, then he and Miranda would be trapped within because there was no way
either of them would be able to reproduce the odd-sounding language or recall
such strange words.