Depraved (Tales of a Vampire Hunter #2) (17 page)

Walking with her down the hall and stairs, joining in the
crowds of people dressed in equally grand attire, he tried to shake off his
uneasiness, going along with the flow, but still alert, wary, and ready for
anything that happened.

They followed the crowd down to a
level below the one Oliver thought of as Azazel’s study, an even larger room
done up like a grand ballroom, complete with inlaid wood floor, crystal sconces
and chandeliers, and a full orchestra set up on a stage at one end of the room.
The only thing setting it apart from a party for humans was the lack of food,
though a room off to the side did hold tables offering a few things for the
non-supernatural guests. Wine flowed freely, passed out by waiters bearing
trays.

Miranda took an offered goblet from one of the waiters, but
Oliver refused the one offered to him. He wanted to keep his wits about him.

The crowd held vampires and humans. He recognized the
walking dead by their different costumes—Aztec and Spanish in equal numbers—and
odd, black auras. The humans walked among these creatures as if completely
unthreatened which eased Oliver somewhat. Obviously, they felt safe here under
his father’s roof.

Many of the people wore masks. Some were fashioned to sit
upon the face, reminding Oliver of the Phantom of the Opera, and others were
held up with thin sticks the wearer could raise or lower. Many sparkled with
sequins or had full feathers that rivaled the headdresses some of the Aztec’s
wore.

When the band struck up a waltz, Oliver bowed deeply before
Miranda. “Shall we dance, Darlin’?” he asked, loving the surprise that lit up
her eyes.

She grinned and put her hand in his.

He led her onto the dance floor. Wrapping an arm around her
waist, he drew her close and began to move through the familiar steps.

“For someone who didn’t want to come to the party, you sure
are a good dancer.” She smiled up at him.

“I’m full of surprises.” He wiggled an eyebrow, setting her
off in a fit of tipsy laughter.

“You’re full of something,” she said. “Admit it. This
is
fun!”

“
You
are fun,” he said,
twirling her around once more before the music came to an end.

The crowd seemed to know something he did not, for they all
moved to the sides of the room, leaving a path down the middle. Everyone looked
to the staircase, and Oliver’s gaze followed to where his father stood at the
top.

He too was dressed for the occasion, in a suit like the one
Oliver wore, only his was all in black. The only hint of color came from a ruby
pin in his tie. When he raised a hand that silenced the crowd, Oliver saw his
cufflinks were also made of giant rubies.

“I am so pleased you have all gathered here tonight for this
special celebration. After so many years spent keeping the balance through our
ceremonies and individual efforts, we finally welcome ones who can end this
time of uncertainty and bring us peace in a new world no longer threatened by
others. Tonight, we have among us two very special guests—my son, Oliver Ripley
and his lovely mate, Miranda Vladula.”

The hairs on the back of Oliver’s neck rose as he looked at
the sea of faces turned to him and Miranda. When the dance ended, they’d been
left at the end of the path that had formed with nothing between them and his
father.

Azazel started down the stairs, his long black hair flowing
behind him, his black eyes glinting. Oliver felt his immense power, even from
across the huge room.

He stopped in the middle of the dance floor. His guests
moved back, leaving him standing in a circle of inlaid wood that formed a star
with sharp points.

“Tonight is truly a celebration. It is the start of a new
age. A new time. The blood that flows this evening will christen the birth of a
new era. And you, children of my blood, and worthy servants of my mission,
shall be witness.”

Miranda reached for Oliver’s hand, tension rolling off of
her and slamming into him.

The band began to play, though they kept the sound coming
from their instruments low and subdued. The crowd moved in unison, making a
circle of bodies around Azazel that was open at one end, like a horseshoe, with
Oliver and Miranda standing in the opening.

Far above them, a noise sounded, stone grinding on stone.
Oliver looked up and saw the maze of stairs moving, which seemed impossible,
yet there it was. Far above them, the circle of stone at the very top of the
temple lifted and swirled away, revealing a night sky filled with stars. The
altar Oliver had seen when they’d arrived seemed to float through the air,
controlled by nothing more than his father’s hand, which had lifted, fingers
curling and uncurling, beckoning. Like a conductor, in time with the music, he
directed the altar through the middle of the temple, past each floor until it
came to rest in the circle he’d stood upon.

Lying prone upon the stone slab was a girl. Young, though
with the curves of an adult, she was naked. Nothing held her down except her
fingers, gripping the edges of the altar stone. Her long, brown hair flowed
over the edge on one side and her chest rose and fell with rapid breaths. When
the altar came to a gentle rest before his father, her gaze swung to meet
Oliver’s and then turned to his father and stayed there.

Azazel traced a line down her cheek. “What is your name,
child?” he said, his gaze never leaving hers though the crowd had stepped
closer.

Each and every body in the room swayed as if bound by some
common cord that directed them.

“Bettina,” the girl answered in a voice that shook with
emotion.

“Please, for the benefit of my special guests, tell us why
you’ve come to me.” Azazel’s voice was deep, his words smooth and
well-practiced, though Oliver heard the barely controlled emotion in his tone.

“I . . . am dying,” she said, her Spanish accent stronger
now, speaking a language that was not her own.

“Yes,” Azazel said, nodding, his long hair brushing the
shoulders and waist of the girl as he stood above her, his hands moving over
her body.

She arched her back into his touch, parting her legs, her nipples
pebbling into points as she licked her lips.

Though he had not asked for more, she gave it. “
Mi madre
. . . my mother spoke of you. She said
I might live if I surrender my life to you.” Her voice broke as she spoke the
last words and a tear rolled down her cheek. “I am too young to die!”

“Yes,” Azazel said again, swaying with the crowd as if in a
trance, his hands dancing over the girl’s flesh now, dipping between her legs,
making hers tremble as he caressed her. “So young, so full of life.”

Many in the audience touched one another, bottoms pushed
back into groins, hands slid down bodices, pants undone, and flesh caressed.
The people sighed, still moving in time to the music and the girl’s breathing.

Next to him, Oliver heard Miranda’s breath quicken. Her
fingers squeezed his tighter but when he looked at her, her eyes were straight
ahead, pupils dilated, a flicker of tongue wetting her lips.

“Miranda,” he whispered, alarmed by her reaction to the
scene playing out in front of them.

When she did not respond, he curled his fingers around her
jaw, forcing her to turn to him. She looked drugged, dazed, and sensual, lost
as she blinked heavy lids and swayed into him. Her lips parted, and Oliver’s
blood ran cold when he saw her vampire teeth had grown into sharp points
resting against her full bottom lip.

Heart pounding, holding Miranda’s hand tighter, he turned
away from the scene playing out. He wanted to drag her away from what was going
to happen, to snap her out of whatever spell she was under, but behind him the
crowd had closed in forming a wall of bodies.

Oliver turned back as the girl on the altar spoke again.

“Please, can you help me?” she implored Oliver’s father.

Azazel’s teeth had grown too. The other vampires all
responded the same way as humans caressed them, urging them forward.

“Help her, save her . . . help her,” they began to chant,
their soft voices rising as one, louder and louder until the blood pounded in
Oliver’s ears.

“You will be welcome into our family, my child. Cared for
and loved. Alive but undead, forever young, forever beautiful. No more pain, no
more suffering. Is this what you wish?” Azazel traced a finger from her groin
to her heart, his palm flattening there, pressing between her breasts as she
arched off the table and reached up to wrap her fingers around his, drawing
them to her mouth and kissing his fingertips.

“Will I still be able to see my mother?” she asked, tears
flowing once more.

“Yes, always and forever, you will be able to love her and
care for her.”

“It is what I wish. Please, help me.” Her voice cracked once
more as her body shuddered with emotion.

“Your body will be free of sickness, your soul bound to the
earth. You will be part of our family.” Azazel’s eyes lifted from the girl for
the first time and met Oliver’s.

Oliver was motionless, though his body throbbed with
conflicting emotions.

All around him, everyone was caught up in the moment.
Clothes had been shed and naked bodies writhed in the moonlight. Excitement
crackled in the air, but Oliver remained apart from it, an observer. Even the
humans seemed drugged, servicing the vampires with mouths and tongues and
holding clothing as it was removed.

“Son,
this
is the gift
of the vampire. The gift of eternal life. This is the way of our kind, the way
it should be. A balance is held in the world when life is given, where only
pain exists, where a future is granted when only death waited.”

“And the others who kill only to feed? Is this why they are
dying?” Oliver asked, the words coming as if he were somehow a part of this. He
shook his head, trying to clear it.

Azazel smiled, his dark eyes filled with pleasure. “Yes. The
balance cannot be upset. We can all exist in this world. My kind can help
people like this girl. Your kind can maintain the balance. This is how it is
done. How it must be. Remember this.”

Azazel smoothed the girl’s hair from her head, his fingers
encircling her throat. On his finger, he wore a ring of silver and rubies, the
end pointed. He slowly punctured the vein that pulsed in her neck. As her blood
began to flow, the vampires in the crowd moved forward until they blocked her
from view.

The vampire hunter in Oliver trembled with energy, watching
the collective aura of the vampires blend into a swirling cloud that met the
sacrifice’s, blending with it until it was just one large cloud that began to
move in a cyclone around the altar, reaching all the way up into the night sky.

“It’s beautiful,” Miranda said, her voice once more normal,
though her words startled Oliver from his trance.

“They’re killing her.” He stepped away from the crowd of
humans at the vampire’s backs, pulling Miranda to the edge of the room, into a
doorway.

“They’re
saving
her,”
Miranda said, reaching up and slipping fingers into his hair.

He looked back. Azazel met his eyes as his ring sliced his
own wrist and he held it to the girl’s lips. She was in the throes of death,
convulsing on the altar, held down by many vampire hands, soothed with tender
words and sing-song voices chanting in several languages. She stilled, the
blood his father offered spilling from her lips, dripping onto the floor. And
then she trembled, her tongue curling out to lap at the offering, her lips
closing around it, drinking until his father paled, the blood flowing from his
body into the girl’s. Behind him, hands held him up as he began to fall and,
above him, the moonlight pierced the night, beaming down to shimmer off his
uplifted face.

His minions carried him away. Someone covered the girl with
a blanket embroidered with Aztec symbols. Circling hands, the vampires danced
around the girl, singing and swaying together. The wolves slunk into the room,
and they lifted their voices into howls that raised the hairs on the back of
Oliver’s neck. It was like his dream, only this time he understood.

When the
attack began, Oliver thought it was a part of the ritual. Screams pierced the
night. The wolves’ howls turned to snarls. Humans encircled the vampires who
still surrounded the girl. Voices that had been lifted in song shrieked.

Over the noise and confusion rang
the sounds of boots on stairs. The room was filled suddenly with more people,
people with swords and daggers lifted and plunging into humans and vampire
alike. Arrows flew through the air, impaling vampires and knocking them to the ground.

“Oliver! What’s happening?”
Miranda shouted. She lifted her skirt, freeing her dagger and putting her back
to the wall.

Casting out his senses, opening
his mind to the creatures filling the great hall, Oliver felt others around
them. Beings with black auras like Lobo’s mixed with humans and vampires. “It’s
Lobo. He’s here.”

Grabbing Miranda’s free hand, he
tugged her with him through a doorway, bending down to yank his dagger from its
makeshift holster. They ran down a long corridor. Lobo’s minions had come from
above, through the open roof, so he went the other way, down the stairs that
took them below the great room they’d been in.

Vampires and humans flooded the
passageway and stairs. Oliver moved with them, shoving Miranda into the flowing
river of people, hoping they knew a way out. Screams followed them.

Their path was cut off when they
came to a tomb-like room with no exit, no way out.

“We must stay here. Azazel will
save us,” said the old woman Oliver recognized as the one who’d brought them
clothes earlier in the day.