Instinct Ascending: Rabids Book 2

by Amy Cook

  Amiel felt herself and her Hybrid self-conflicting, both angry at the useless nature of their limbs. But it was the disappointed look Harley sent her over his shoulder that set her veins on fire. It was the second time in one night she’d seen it, and she never, ever wanted to see that look on his face again. And yet she had a feeling it would be her constant companion now, always locked in her mind, if not on his face. She’d made a mess of everything, a fool of herself, and now when he needed her at his side, she was flashing the world like a tramp.

  “Wow, look at her. She’s wasted.” One of the goons laughed at her expense, and she felt tears eke from the corners of her eyes. Harley’s gaze softened as he stared down at her, and it made her tears flow even more freely. She gasped as a goon leapt forward, slamming Harley in the jaw with his fist. Instant fire consumed Harley’s eyes, his Hybrid flooding to the surface with a fury. He pointed at her.

  “Don’t move, kid.” Then turning his head slowly back to the thugs, he shook out his shoulders. “Ever try pickin’ your teeth up off the ground with broken fingers? I foresee a lot of that in your future.”

  The goons scoffed. “Oh, really? What are you, psychic?”

  “Yep. Get it from my aunt.” He paused to think. “Come to think of it, she told me once that I’d have problems with hemorrhoids in my future. It wasn't until now that I realized she was talkin’ about losers like you.”

  The world spun around her again as several of the men rushed forward, their swift movements throwing off her grip on the surroundings. Sounds of fists meeting flesh filtered toward Amiel’s ears through all the colors flooding her senses. She groaned in frustration, pushing at the murky sensations keeping her from accessing her full mental capacity. Harley needed her! All she’d wanted was a chance to prove herself worthy, to prove that she was capable of being a companion, and she’d screwed it all up, over and over.

  Amiel stiffened her resolve. She wasn’t going out like that. Maybe something was going screwy in her head, but she could still help. Determined to be of use, she grabbed a handful of rocks and chucked them as hard as she could at the assailants. Or at least that was the plan. Instead, they ended up pelting Harley. He flinched, taking another punch to the gut before knocking the guy out.

  “Damn it, kid! I told ya not to move!”

  “I’m helping,” Amiel groaned.

  “Not helpin’! Stop throwin’ crap at me!” he growled over his shoulder.

  “Don’t worry, you can help us out later, little girl. All of us.” One of the last three jerks leered. Her eyes cleared enough to realize each of them now brandished a knife.

  Harley went still, his muscles freezing in that creepy statue way of his. The moment could be seen when their lives flashed before their eyes; it was clearly reflected on their faces, seconds before Harley leapt on them. Amiel slumped fully onto her back, the night sky above dark and foreboding as the sounds of fighting continued in the background.

  Tiny snowflakes suddenly appeared, glittering down toward her, landing on her face with chilled caresses as the night became quiet. She closed her eyes, reveling in the quiet; she’d forgotten how much she missed it. The feather-soft touches of ice on her feverish skin soothed her. If she lay very still, eyes closed, she could almost pretend she didn’t feel completely wrecked inside.

  “Good gravy! What happened out here? Are y’all okay?” Joyce’s voice floated toward her in the darkness, and Amiel almost wanted to shush her for disturbing the serene silence. Harley’s voice came in reply.

  “Bunch of idiots thought they were tough; saw my tattoo for what it was, saw Amiel’s tattoo for what it was, decided they didn’t like us. Then they got their faces smashed in.” His tone was a mixture of his typical nonchalance and tightly-reined anger. Amiel decided to keep her eyes closed, rather than face that just now. Not that she could have moved if she wanted to. She felt nearly paralyzed with lethargy.

  “What’s wrong with Amiel?”

  “She’s drunk, that’s what,” Harley growled, crouching down at her side and turning her face to get a better look at any damage she might have done to herself.

  “She can’t be. She only had water; we both did. But somethin’ sure went haywire in there tonight,” Joyce explained desperately. Harley leaned closer, his nose touching her lips as he drew deep.

  “Somebody spiked her water with somethin’, then. It’s doin’ a real number on her, whatever it was. Any kind of drug or accelerant is a huge no-no to our kind. The deadly sort,” Harley supplied in frustration.

  “Your… kind?” Joyce asked, uncertainly. Whatever silent look Harley graced her with must have given Amiel’s friend all the answer she needed. Her reply was a simple, shaky, “Oh.” After a long, tense moment, the woman cleared her throat and spoke with a slightly stronger tone.

  “Is she gonna be okay?”

  “I’ll make sure of it,” Harley promised darkly.

  “Curse it all to Hades. I was just tryin’ to help her take the edge off the day, and it all went to mush. Be gentle on her, Harley, she’s had a rough twenty-four hours.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Somethin’ about losin’ friends, people dyin’, and her mama bein’ crazy. But mostly, today’s her brother’s birthday and she ain’t handlin’ it well,” Joyce replied quietly. Harley was silent for a long moment before releasing a harsh sigh. When he finally spoke, the irritation in his tone had melted into a bone-weary exhaustion.

  “Got it. Got a way home, Red?”

  “I have a cab out front. Amiel’s stuff is in there. Should I get it?”

  “Just bring it by for her tomorrow or somethin’, would ya?” Harley wrapped his jacket around Amiel, cocooning her in safety and warmth. Then he scooped her into his arms, cradling her against his chest as though she were breakable.

  “Sure. What are you gonna do with her?” Joyce asked hesitantly.

  “Teach her about consequences,” Harley stated stiffly, climbing onto the back of his bike and positioning her so that she sat sideways in his lap. “Get straight to your taxi, Red. It ain’t safe out here,” Harley cautioned Joyce, before the bike roared to life and they took off down the road. Amiel slumped against Harley, her head pounding and the world shivering around her. She’d royally screwed up tonight, and she wasn’t entirely sure how to come back from it. Instead, she simply let herself sink into the darkness that her mind proffered, unconsciousness a welcome escape.

  Chapter 43

  Amiel

  Consciousness came with a vengeance. Her head pounded, the world swayed, and her stomach rioted. Rigid pains shot up and down her limbs, cramping them. The sound of flesh slamming forcefully against leather met her ears, and she instantly knew it was Harley. From the sound of it, the gym was going to need another new punching bag before the night was over.

  Cracking one eye open, she found herself draped over the leather couch in the corner. A thick, soft blanket covered her, tucked in along the contours of her body for warmth. Harley’s jacket lay over her shoulders, one leather arm pressed near her nose. Tears stung her eyes as she realized that he had not only tucked her in, but left his jacket placed just so, to give her comfort. The weight of it surrounded her, the placement of the arm giving her constant access to the scent he knew calmed her. Even after all she’d done, after how angry he was, he still cared for her with such compassion.

  Quietly slipping out from under the blanket and jacket, Amiel hid in the bathroom before Harley realized she was awake. That cold sweat was still her companion, leaving her skin slicked with it. Her body ached, and she was miserable inside and out. She stared longingly at the shower, but knew it wouldn’t help her. The comfort she needed wouldn’t come from a shower, no matter how badly she needed one. Besides, she didn’t have any of her replacement clothes in here with her. Instead she turned to the sink, washing her face with cold water until she shivered.

  Drying off with the hand towel, Amiel stared at herself in the mirror. Her eyes caught
on the tattoo at her neck. The skin looked healed already, the tattoo standing out in perfect contrast to her skin. It was a beautiful design, with a beautiful meaning behind it. It was a beautiful disaster. Body shuddering with a sigh, on the verge of tears, Amiel quietly opened the door.

  She peeked timidly around the corner, watching as Harley pummeled the bag to a lumpy pulp. The sweat slicking his bare back glimmered in the low lighting of the shop, an obvious reflection of just how much anger and power he was pouring into each punch. Her actions tonight had put him over the top in a way she’d never seen. She’d found all the wrong buttons and stomped all over them. Biting her lip, Amiel glanced at the stairway that could lead to escape.

  “Where ya think you’re goin’?” Harley’s voice was level — calm, even. But it didn’t deceive Amiel one bit. She was in big trouble. She stepped fully around the corner, coming into view.

  “I think I should go home.”

  “Wrong answer. You’re sparrin’. Now.”

  Amiel opened her mouth to protest, but decided there wasn’t much point to it. Besides, they both had some frustrations to get out tonight; might as well make it productive. She turned and headed for the locker that contained her workout clothes.

  “Don’t.”

  Amiel turned with a frown. “Do you want me to spar, or not?”

  “Oh you’re sparrin’ all right, Thumbelina. But you ain’t gettin’ changed to do it.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me, Princess.” He only called her princess when he was annoyed with her, and it set her nerves on edge.

  “You want me to fight in this?”

  He folded his arms and waited. She had her answer. With a sigh, she reached for her shoe straps.

  “Leave the shoes on.” His voice remained deadly calm, yet a dark fire burned in his eyes that let her know he was about to unleash all of the pent-up Hell he’d been holding in since the club. And she had no doubts that it was aimed directly at her. Slipping the heels back on, Amiel stumbled across the matted floor to his side.

  “How am I supposed to fight in this?”

  “Exactly.” His fist suddenly shot out, and Amiel reflexively dodged to the side. Or at least that was what her body tried to do… only her heels and tight skirt weren’t exactly on board with that idea. Not to mention, her reflexes were entirely off beat.

  “How exactly are you supposed to fight, wearin’ somethin’ like that, Amiel?” Harley didn’t let up, didn’t take it easy on her in the least. He pursued her as she stumbled backward, clumsily deflecting his attacks occasionally, but mostly taking more than her fair share of jabs that would leave her bruised the next day.

  “Okay, I get it!”

  “Do ya? No, I don’t think ya do. Maybe ya think I’ll drop it, let it go. Maybe ya think I’ll leave it at that, and y’all can go on your merry way. But guess what, Princess, that ain’t gonna happen.”

  “Stop calling me Princess!”

  “Make me,” he challenged. “What do you think woulda happened tonight if I hadn’t shown up?”

  “I was fine!”

  “Those men had you marked, long before I even got there! That damned tattoo made it a grand invitation! If I hadn’t shown up, you woulda gotten a taste first-hand of the dangers I was tryin’ to warn ya about earlier tonight. They had ya marked for a Hybrid, they drugged ya, and they planned to kill ya. And they woulda done it, if I hadn’t shown up when I did. Welcome to one of the many ways you’ve screwed up your life for the next couple of weeks. Of course, to be fair, they probably woulda marked ya in a crowd anyways, just because of the way ya look.”

  “What is that supposed to mean!”

  “Actions speak louder than words, Princess. A short skirt and barely-there shirt speak even louder.”

  “Are you calling me a slut?”

  “I’m callin’ ya stupid.”

  “I could have taken them!” she shouted in fury.

  “Oh right, y’all were doin’ a whole lotta butt kickin’, sprawled out on the ground, tonight. Hell, you’re still kickin’ butt right now, ain’t ya? Those shoes are great for balance, I bet.” He shot a kick toward her legs, and she stumbled backward in an effort to avoid it, nearly spraining an ankle in the process. He shrugged nonchalantly.

  “If it were just the shoes, maybe ya still coulda had a chance. Toss ’em off, maybe break a few toes, but you’d still be able to fight back. But that skirt? I bet y’all can really kick the snot outta someone with that thing on, can’t ya.”

  He aimed another kick her way, her reflexes once again sluggishly jerked in response, her leg raising to block it and failing. The material of the jean skirt yanked it to a halt before it got halfway upward. Amiel screamed in frustration as she reached inside and once again begged her Hybrid for help. But just like earlier in the night, her Hybrid was no help. Harley’s eyes brightened as he sensed another triumph at her expense.

  “How’s your head, Princess? Is your inner voice givin’ you any useful advice right now? No? Oh that’s right, you’re drugged.”

  Her mind flashed back to the guy who had given her that sideways look at the bar. He must have seen the tattoo under her scarf when she was rubbing it. She hadn’t even considered the possibility of the danger it would pose, then. Angry at herself, she shouted back at Harley.

  “I didn’t choose that!”

  “Don’t matter, the outcome is the same. No Hybrid can function with anythin’ like that in their system. It screws up the senses, puts the body in overload. If ya don’t burn it off, fast, you’ll die from it, did ya know that?” She hadn’t. Another thing she hadn’t even considered. Harley nodded, pushing harder.

  “That’s right. Alcohol, drugs, any stimulant at all can be more dangerous to us than any weapon. So come on, burn it off! Get mad at me and work it out!”

  His hand shot out, hitting her in her tender stomach. She knew he’d pulled the punch, kept the full force of it far away from what he’d just hit her with. It still hurt, but mostly it just ticked her off. She knew he was taunting her, trying to make her anger rise. It was working. Reaching down, she grabbed the shoes and yanked them off, breaking the straps in the process, yet too angry to care. Tossing them straight at Harley, she hissed angrily as they flew past his head without his even exerting himself to dodge them.

  “Come on Amiel. Hit me, already!”

  “I'm trying!” She grunted, barely dodging a punch that he directed at her head, which to him was, again, half the speed of his usual punches. He was taking it easy on her, and she was still unable to keep up. She gritted her teeth in anger as one of his blows glanced off her shoulder.

  “This ain’t about tryin’, kid, this is about your choices tonight. If you hadn’t made ’em, you’d be able to handle it.”

  She fumed. She already knew her choices that night had been terribly stupid. She wasn’t quite ready to admit that yet, though. If she let down her shield of anger, she knew she’d crumble from the pain.

  “Get off my back!”

  “Trust me, if I wanted to get on your back right now, I could. You’re clumsier than a drunk pig.”

  Amiel scowled. “I'm not superhuman. I’m not one of you and never will be, remember? You made that very clear. I don't know if I even can do better than this, choices aside.”

  He shrugged, bouncing back on his toes with ease and grace as she threw a clumsy punch at his jaw.

  “If that's how ya feel, that's how you'll stay; subpar attitude, subpar ability.”

  “Did you just call me subpar?” Her eyes narrowed as she wiped the sweat away from them. He danced out of the way when she sent a kick at his knee. His face remained expressionless, the arctic depths of his eyes brimming with that annoying challenge.

  “If the designer shoe fits, Princess.” He drew each word out slowly and deliberately, as though he were speaking to a complete simpleton. Amiel’s body shuddered against the rising fury. If there was one thing she hated more than being told she wasn’t good enou
gh, it was being called out for her past of money.

  “Don't call me that!” The words ground past her teeth, and the challenge in his eyes only grew bolder. Her arms and legs shot out, intent on wiping that smug grin off his face. He easily dodged, but she didn’t relent, following closely behind with more attacks, pushing beyond her endurance.

  Suddenly her limbs didn’t feel so leaden; the more she sweated, the more free she felt of the haze that hung over her. Distantly, she knew that was what Harley was aiming for, suspected that this whole thing was just to get her riled up in an effort to get rid of the drugs in her system faster. But she didn’t care. No matter his reasons, both of their gloves were off, and their words and emotions were unguarded. And she was so distraught inside that she was more than eager to rise to the challenge.

  “You say you care so much about me, but you don’t care at all, do you? I’m just some babysitting job to you, a grudging duty!”

  The fire in his eyes burned hotter. “I don’t care? I don’t care? I’ve stood by ya, trained ya, protected ya and gone against my own kin for ya! I leave for one damned week to save my pops, and I come back to find ya happily wreckin’ everythin’ I did to keep ya safe! Tell me, who’s the one that don’t care now!”

  “Tandy?” She faltered slightly, thrown off by this tidbit. “Is he okay?”

  “Do ya care?” He threw his arms wide, taunting her.

  “Of course I do!” She shook her head, fighting past the last of the haze in her mind. “You said we were done, that it was too dangerous. And then you cut me off, wouldn’t answer my calls or explain. I didn’t know about Tandy. I thought you’d just left me. That you didn’t think I could handle this life.”

  “Well, ya sure proved me wrong, didn’t ya? Struttin’ ’round with half your clothes on, gettin’ drugged, and slappin’ that damned homin’ beacon on your neck like ya just don’t care. Or maybe y’all just wanted me to clean up your messes, to get back at me for leavin’. Is that it?”