Depraved (Tales of a Vampire Hunter #2) (16 page)

“It does sound like a bunch of fairy tales, but it’s
interesting how much of it parallels things we’ve been taught in this world,
from the bible and Darwinism, to things I read in the vampire history books.
Could any of it really be true?” Miranda asked, gazing from Oliver to the book
and back again.

Oliver remembered thinking before that in all lies sat an
element of truth. “It’s possible that people believed these things, yes. We
already know there’s much we don’t understand about our kind and our place in
the world. Why not worlds of monkeys and Aztec vampires who just want to save
the world?” He had a hard time keeping the cynicism from his voice.

“It would be easier to discard the ancient stories, many of
which may have just been man’s attempt to reconcile things they too found hard
to explain,” Azazel said. “But do not forget I have seen much during my
hundreds of years on this earth. I’ve come to believe that there is another
world just waiting to be born into ours. The Aztecs believed that the world had
died and been reborn several times and that the gods also died and were reborn.
Aztec myth taught them about duality, a balance between two equal and opposing
forces. Always the two, hand in hand. Death; rebirth. Good; evil. The balance
must be maintained. I’ve seen that time and time again. If the door to the
other world is opened and the beings there are allowed to run amok here, I do
not believe humans will be able to survive. If they are gone, their world dies
with them.”

“You said there were five worlds. This would be the fifth?”
Miranda pointed to the last square, which sat next to an empty one. “How was
this one born?”

“The warring gods were given another chance. They came
together as young children, brother and sister, raised to love one another and
the people they were to rule jointly this time. At least this was the wish of
the Gods the Aztecs believed in. But, yet again, forces outside their control
intervened and when a choice had to be made, one of the twins—the girl—tried to
kill her brother, resulting in the splitting of the worlds when their parents
couldn’t bear to destroy their only daughter for the sake of their son. They
divided the two worlds this time, and their daughter ended up in the other
world with all things bad about gods and humans. But she was given a chance at
destroying this world for good, one her parents had not foretold in their grief
and eagerness to save her; if she could find a way to open the door between the
two worlds, she would be destined to rule the new world that would be born when
hers died.”

“And this is the time we live in now, the one the Aztecs
thought of as the 5th world?” Oliver asked.

“Yes, that would be this time. This place and hers, a
balance of the two needed to maintain both.”

“What about the good twin? What happened to him?” Miranda
asked, fully sucked into the story it seemed.

“The other twin ruled those left in the 5th world, our
world. To sustain the balance, the Aztecs believed the Gods demanded blood
sacrifices from both sides. The Aztecs did plenty of that and so did the
Spanish, but it was during a time of peace that one of their priests made a
deal with the devil, who brought forth the vampire from the other world to feed
on blood to sustain the pact with the gods to let both worlds live. But, the
gods demanded a balance, letting the bad twin send another creature from her
world capable of killing the blood sucking creations of the devil. The vampire
hunter.” Azazel stopped, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes for a
moment. When he looked at them again, pain was etched into his every feature.

“So, wait a minute. What happened to the good twin in all of
that?” Miranda asked.

“He did battle with the vampires.” Azazel moved away from
the book and sat heavily on the couch, petting a wolf that came whining to his
feet.

“And he lost?” Miranda asked, not moving from Oliver’s side.

“He lost many things, yes. He became a vampire himself, but
kept this world whole for hundreds more years, seeing to it that balance,
however tenuous, was kept.”

“You’re the good twin, aren’t you?” Miranda said softly.

“I think that’s the gist of his story, Honey,” Oliver said.

“You don’t believe him?”

Oliver rubbed the bridge of his nose. Believe? What did he
believe? Why did it always come down to that? “Like with Lobo and the others,
all I know is that this is what he wants us to believe for his own reasons.”

“Stay with me, Oliver. Talk to the people here. Read more of
the book and others. Do not be rash in your decisions, for unthinking actions
could be the downfall of all you hold dear. Please, I am not a begging man, but
this I beg of you. Stay,” his father said. “Give me the same chance you gave
your mother.”

They stayed. Oliver’s father gave
them a room fitted out like an Aztec King’s bedroom.

“It’s like a museum, this whole place, like he’s been
collecting things for centuries,” Miranda said, wandering around the room,
checking out the paintings and statues and ceramics.

“More like a museum’s storeroom,” Oliver grumbled. He’d
never liked clutter.

Miranda laughed softly and climbed onto the big bed that
dominated the room. She patted the mattress. “It’s nice up here.”

Oliver glanced at the door his father had closed behind
himself when he left them for the night. No lock. No sentry posted outside
either. All the knick-knacks too small to barricade the door, and the bed too
bulky to move.

“We don’t need locks here,” Azazel had explained. “No one
can get in, and I trust everyone within my walls.”

Lobo had said some of his walking dead were among those
close to Azazel. He claimed they spied for him. Oliver wondered what his father
would say if he told him, but saw no reason to share the information yet.

He dug around in their backpack and placed a dagger under
their pillows and left the swords propped next to the bed.

“You don’t trust him, do you?” Miranda asked, shrugging off
her hoodie.

“Leave your clothes and boots on.”

She chuckled, putting the hoodie back on. “I guess that’s a
no.”

Oliver climbed up on the bed beside her, propping his back
against the headboard and letting her settle into his arms. Her touch soothed
his agitated emotions.

“Do you? He shows us a book, tells us a bunch of fairy tales
about other worlds and evil twins and Gods and expects what? That we’ll stay,
and let him brainwash us into fighting for his side if someone tries to open a
door between worlds?” He snorted. “Seriously, do
you
believe him?”

Miranda thought about it for a few moments, gazing up at
him, her chin resting on his chest. “When you put it like that, it does sound
far-fetched. But some of it had a ring of truth to it. And he didn’t harm us,
kept his people away from us, and let us into his home. I didn’t see that
coming did you?”

Oliver shook his head. “No, I didn’t. But I’m not surprised
he talked to us. Everyone seems to want to share their side of things, and everyone
has their own motives.”

“That part’s killing me. I wish we knew what was true and
what wasn’t.” Miranda frowned.

Again, Oliver thought of the notebook they’d started, the
one with lists of items they knew to be true and those they were unsure about.
Lists wouldn’t help them now. They’d been fed too many conflicting stories.

“Time will tell. Everything will come to a head one day, and
we’ll have to choose. In the end we have to do what our hearts tell us is right
and let the chips fall where they will.”

“He didn’t mention the others after us—my father, your
mother—I wonder where he stands against them?”

“He may not know everything the way he seems to think he
does. He’s arrogant, that’s for sure.” Oliver thought again of the spies Lobo
claimed to have among Azazel’s people and wondered if his father wasn’t sharing
all he knew or had gaps in his knowledge he wasn’t aware existed, but before he
could think about it too much, he was distracted by Miranda.

She nibbled her bottom lip and slipped a hand under the
waistband of his jeans. She unzipped his jacket, tugged his shirt up and kissed
a path to his nipple, sucking it until it rose in her mouth.

Oliver moaned, sliding his fingers into her short hair.
“This is nice. Let’s go with this for a while.” He grinned.

She straddled him, undoing the top button of his pants and
tugging down his zipper. “Do you think we can make love without taking most of
our clothes off?”

“Let’s find out,” he said, pulling her down to him, kissing
her like his life depended on it.

They discovered they could.

*****

Much later, after a sex-induced slumber and many more hours
spent talking, they wandered out into the hall and found one of Azazel’s people
waiting to show them where they could clean up.

This one was an old woman, stooped over from a curved spine
and as wrinkled as a raisin. “The Master would like you to join him this
evening for a special celebration. Clothing has been left for you in your
chambers. He would be most honored if you would wear the items he selected for
you,” she said, before leaving them.

“That was nice,” Miranda said as they walked back to the
bedroom, refreshed.

“Everything he does is calculated to make us comfortable and
at ease. Knowing that makes me even more wary,” Oliver answered. “It’s all too
easy, too nice and too . . . cunning is the word that comes to mind.”

“But you don’t want to leave yet either,” Miranda said. “Do
you think he’d really let us go like he said he would?”

“We’ll find out soon enough. I’ll humor him by attending
this celebration because I want to watch him in action with his people and talk
with some of them. But as soon as it’s over, we’re going.”

“And what about the deal you made with Lobo?”

“I’m sure Azazel knows what we were supposed to do. It seems
they both have spies.” He didn’t want to admit that he still didn’t know what
the right move was.

Miranda gave him a lingering hug and then walked over to the
wardrobe, a massive thing of carved wood that looked like mahogany. It had been
closed before, but now the doors stood open, displaying the outfits the old
woman had told them about.

“Wow!” Miranda said. “Check this stuff out. It must be a
costume party he’s having. I’ve never seen anything like these clothes except
in movies.”

On one side of the wardrobe hung a red gown with a full
skirt made of what looked to Oliver like silk. The waist was nipped in by a
corset tied with black ribbons. The material was strung with black beading that
formed intricate designs. The other side of the wardrobe held an outfit for
Oliver. Far more subdued than Miranda’s, it still looked like something a man
would wear to a wedding. Black pants, a white shirt, and a black, cutaway coat.
A black tie and black onyx cufflinks sat in a pull-out tray. Shiny black shoes
completed the ensemble. Something about the outfit seemed almost Victorian,
from another time when men dressed like this for dinner every night.

“It’s a bit much, don’t you think? I’ve never worn anything
like this in my life,” Oliver said, frowning as he thought of parading around
in this outfit. “Nowhere to hide a dagger in that dress, that’s for sure.”

Miranda grinned. “Stop grumbling. I think it’s fun, like
playing dress up and you’re going to look fabulous in that suit.”

There was no mirror in the room, so Oliver had to take her
word for it when she told him he did indeed look spectacular. She took his
breath away once laced into the snug, strapless dress that hugged her curves,
pushing up her small breasts and making her waist so tiny he could get his
hands around it. But the whole thing still made him antsy. He insisted on
fashioning a makeshift thigh band to hold her dagger in place and strapped his
to his calf where it wouldn’t be seen. If he could have found a way for them to
carry their swords, he would have been happier. As it was, he had to satisfy
himself with adding the pistol, tucked down into the pocket of his jacket.

Miranda had opened the drawers in the wardrobe and found
jewels to match her dress. She pinned the thing she called a brooch in her
hair, pulling it back from her face. Around her neck she wore a thick necklace
she said was made of black diamonds and pearls.

“It looks like a fancy dog collar to me,” Oliver grumbled,
though he had to admit it was stunning on her.

“It matches the bracelets, Silly,” she said, twirling around
to give him the full effect of her getup.

She’d been sipping on wine that had also been left in their
room, and her face was flushed from excitement and the effects of the alcohol.

Oliver took the empty wine glass from her hand and slipped
an arm around her waist, twirling her across the room. “You’re ravishing. In
fact, that sounds like a lot more fun than attending some ridiculous party.”

“What does?” she asked, looping her arms around his neck,
looking up at him with eyes that seemed an even brighter shade of blue due to
the black liner she’d rimmed them with, giving them a smoky, sultry look.

“Ravishing. Me. You. This penguin suit off. You can leave
the dress on though.” He grinned.

“Tempting,” she purred. “But we’ve never been to a party
together and aren’t you curious about what he has planned for the evening? The
old lady said it was a celebration.”

Curious was one word to describe it, he thought. Nervous was
another.

“We might as well get it over with,” he said, offering her
his arm.

“You know, I love how honest you are but sometimes it’d be
nice if you could just play along. This might be fun!” She linked her arm with
his and smiled up at him.

Somehow, fun was the last thing Oliver thought the evening
would hold. Still, the thought of dancing with the belle of the ball did hold
some appeal. For the first time in his life, he was thankful for the dance
lessons his mother had insisted her boys take. He grinned, thinking how
surprised Miranda would be when she discovered his ability to ballroom dance
for surely, with outfits like these, that would be the sort of affair this
turned out to be.