Edge of Instinct: Rabids Book 1

by Amy Cook

  Given Harley’s reactions, the guy had to know that he had already invested his protective instincts in her. That meant for as long as she would let him, and as long as she needed him to, he’d be protecting her. Harley rolled his shoulders, remembering how he’d tested his other side’s limits by eating her piece of bacon. It was meant to be a sign to the weasel as to where his claim lay, though he was afraid it had been more of a head trip for himself, than it had been for Darvey.

  The fact that Darvey had tried to reassert his claim on her after Harley’s display, was all but calling out a challenge to Harley’s darker side. And a challenge in Harley’s world more often than not ended in death. In fact, if Harley were any of the newer recruits, less in control of that instinctual nature, the guy would have been dead. End of story. Ripping the guy to shreds in front of the kid however, probably would have been a sure fire end to any hopes of friendship he could have with her. So despite being on the verge of losing it, Harley held his darker side back, maintaining his dominance and most of his sanity. Not an easy task, but one he’d honed over the years.

  Harley cringed. He was going to need every ounce of that strength of will and dominance of his baser side, if he was actually going to make good on his promise to train Amiel. Especially if she was going to keep feeding him good food. He could still savor the taste of her last piece of bacon on his tongue. That was all it took for his baser instinct to flare to life, clawing at his restraint in an infuriating way. He angrily stamped it back, knuckles popping in his clenched fists. Finally reaching where he’d left his bike, he climbed on and drove to the one place he knew he’d get plenty of advice; whether he wanted it or not.

  Harley hated Foundation, hated it with a passion. Its cold stark walls never failed to bring goose bumps to his skin. He hated the confining spaces, he hated the entire lack of freedom. Walking within the walls of Foundation reminded him of the fact that he was no longer a free man. For as long as he lived, he’d be a slave to Foundation and its whims.

  “Hybrid,” a man dressed in fatigues shouted at the gates, stepping forward to refuse him access. Harley grit his teeth but stopped in his tracks. “Hybrid, you failed to check in at the appointed time. Explain yourself.”

  “I was busy not dying, sir,” Harley explained in what he felt was a rather pleasant tone. The guard’s face turned stormy, clearly disagreeing.

  “You think you’re funny? How about you spend a week in Iso, and then tell me who’s funny. Disgusting Halfer freak,” the guard snarled, spitting at Harley’s feet. Harley’s muscles went taut the beast within raging. Name calling tended to get under his skin, but he could usually ignore it. Spitting at him on the other hand, that was something he would eagerly face Iso for. Cold grin stretching across his features, Harley pulled the shades from his eyes. He loosened the choke hold on his insides, allowed a bit of the darkness to glower through his gaze. The familiar feelings of euphoria and revulsion rose within, alongside the darkness. He ignored it, focusing solely on the guard before him. The man took a step back, swallowing hard. Harley had been told that Cleans found nothing more unnerving than the stare of a Hybrid. He wasn’t entirely sure what they saw when they looked into his eyes, but his particular brand of Hybrid glaring potency seemed to always have the desired effect. Which was lots and lots of space, and silence.

  “D-don’t even think about it Hybrid.” Harley merely continued staring. The man’s hand twitched toward the button on his watch. Harley’s eyes narrowed, the darkness unfurling further.

  “Try it,” he growled, voice turned gravely, savage. “Give me one more reason to enjoy ripping you apart.” His voice was low, laced with hatred. That button was a hated menace amongst all Hybrids. It triggered a surgical implant in their spines that would send them to the ground in intense pain, immobilized and twitching as the pain fried every nerve. It wasn’t pleasant. Charleen had learned how to fight past the pain in her years of experience. It still took everyone else down. Harley was pretty sure he could fight through the pain long enough to disembowel the fool before him, though. His dark intent must have been clearly evident, because the guard’s hand fell away from the button of his imminent death, and he stumbled backward to the safety of the guard house.

  “Just you watch yourself and check in from now on,” he grumbled over the intercom speaker as the gates slid open. Rolling his neck, Harley continued toward his destination, angrily clamping down on his instinctive urge to rip the idiot’s throat out. He had more important issues to deal with right now.

  Cajun opened his door with that dumb crooked grin on his face that the women seemed to wig out over. His shirt was rumpled hair spiked up all over the place. Harley rolled his eyes.

  “Never mind. I’ll come back later.”

  “Nope, no escape now. Besides, the festivities are over.” He gave a wink before calling out to Charleen that he’d be stepping out for a bit. Cajun ignored his little brother’s dark glare as he gave him a customary noogie, before stretching and sighing in pleasure.

  “Bonzer day, yeah?” Harley grumbled, stuffing his hands in his pockets. Cajun’s eyes suddenly narrowed as he swooped in for the kill. “Wait a minute.” He leaned in and took a big whiff. “Wow.” Harley sighed but said nothing. He’d learned long ago to just let Cajun run through his little dialogues before trying to say a word.

  “I mean wow. I couldn’t hardly smell it in dad’s room, but it’s plastered all over you now, bro. I’m going to have to hose myself off before I go back home, or Charleen will skin me alive.” Harley reveled in the honestly nervous expression in his brother’s eyes. He had to give it to Charleen. She was the one person on earth that could rein Caj in and make him behave. It was no easy task. Harley had been given the task for years before she showed up.

  “So…I take it you’ve been to see her again? Or is it still that strong after last night? Because if so, whew! She is one potent girl!” Harley waited to see if Cajun was done, or just taking a breath. When his brother nudged him with an elbow, expectant look on his face, Harley knew it was his turn.

  “Had to drop her bike off.” Cajun stared at him in disbelief.

  “That’s it? You had to drop her bike off…and that’s why you reek of Amiel Potpourri?” Harley rolled his eyes.

  “She invited me in for pancakes.”

  “Pancakes! Is that what she called it?” Cajun wiggled his brows. Harley growled turning to leave.

  “See ya tonight, Caj.”

  “No no, I’m sorry.” He stepped beside Harley, hands in the air in apology. Harley stopped, jaw clenched but not going anywhere. “I take it back, lock it away forever to stay.” Cajun repeated the mantra from when they were kids. “Or at least until I find a good time to bring it out for blackmail, or pure torturous enjoyment.” He winked, getting as close to serious as one could expect from him on most occasions. Harley crossed his arms over his chest and searched for the right words.

  “I was tryin’ to do what y’all said. Ya know. Be friends. I fixed her bike up some, figured she might like that.” He shrugged. “Anyway, she seemed pretty happy ‘bout it I guess. Fed me pancakes as thanks.”

  “Was it good?” his brother interrupted.

  “What?” Harley’s eyes narrowed.

  “The breakfast,” Cajun replied innocently.

  “Oh. Yeah. Good food.”

  “Cool.” Harley waited to see if Cajun was going to pull out any more of his lame jokes, but he sat quietly and didn’t say a word. Shaking his head, Harley continued.

  “She had huge bruises on her neck from last night.” Cajun’s lips pursed.

  “Ooh. Did you go ballistic and hunt down the troll humper?” Harley’s brow creased. His brother said the weirdest things sometimes. It was usually best to just ignore it and move on.

  “No. Wanted to, but didn’t. Turns out I had a bigger test ahead of me.” Cajun waved his hand in the air, eagerly waiting. “Darbis.”

  “Darbis?” Caj sat for a minute rubbing a hand over his chin thin
king. His eyes lit up. “Oh! The drongo from here at Foundation? The one you can never get his name right!”

  “Don’t feel the need to remember stupid people’s names.” Harley shrugged. Cajun leaned closer, looking around before speaking.

  “So the dill showed up there? What for, did Foundation send him?”

  “Nope. He lives there. Her neighbor.” Cajun stared at him for a moment, clearly waiting for the punch line. When it didn’t come, he let out a huge laugh, eyes watering. Several pairs of eyes from those nearby shifted to land on them, and Harley shifted uncomfortably. Cajun couldn’t have cared less.

  “Dad was right! She’s like a magnet for bad luck!”

  “Y’all don’t know the half of it.”

  “So, what happened then.”

  “Idiot challenged me.”

  “Bloody hell!” Cajun’s face was a mixture of disbelief and rage.

  “Yep. All but the official words.”

  “The no-hoper actually challenged you. I always thought he was Wonka, but I didn’t know just how far gone!”

  “He’s apparently got it in his head that she’s his next conquest.”

  “Well. That’s that then. Need help digging the grave?” Cajun stated factually.

  “He’s still around.”

  “Clangers of steel, Harl, clangers of steel. I’d like to think I’m in control, but if I’d been charged with looking out for Charleen, and anyone had the gall to call me out…”

  “I was on the verge,” Harley admitted grudgingly.

  “So what stopped you?” Cajun had that curious look in his eyes that always led to trouble. Harley simply shrugged, not ready to admit out loud his real reasoning.

  “Look, I came here for advice.” He hesitated. “I told her I’d train her.” Cajun’s eyes widened, understanding the full implications. Harley ran a hand through his hair, not meeting his brother’s eyes.

  “Well then.” For once Cajun seemed to be at a loss of words.

  “What do I do, Caj? I have to protect her, but I can’t be there all the time. She’s gotta know how to protect herself. But I can’t teach her neither. It’s too dangerous.” He paused, rubbing his eyes tiredly. “But I still don’t understand the need to teach her. Pop seemed sure she don’t know how she does what she does, and that it only happened around Rabids. But I’ve seen her fight, and I can’t believe a girl could kick rabid ass the way she does, but not have an ounce of sense on how to kick a Cleans.”

  “Do you think she’s lying?”

  “Any other time I’d say hell yeah. But I seen the look in her eyes that night with the Cuts, Caj. Either the kid’s a perfect liar, or she was terrified outta her wits. Which means Pop was right about her not havin’ control over it.” He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “The pieces just don’t add up, Caj. I’m missin’ somethin’.”

  “Well we know one thing for sure. She’s not one of us.”

  “No,” Harley agreed.

  “Do you think there’s any truth to what that Digger said?”

  “Digger? How many times do I gotta tell ya Caj, speak English,” Harley grumbled in annoyance.

  “The soldier, dummy. The one that said the tags have something to do with her turning into a super ninja. Think there’s any truth to that?”

  “Seems like a real impossible notion, don’t ya think?”

  “Yeah,” Cajun shrugged “but so does a bitty Clean chick with a split personality beating down Rabids for a hobby.” Harley couldn’t argue that. Nor could he argue against what his Aviators told him every time he looked at the girl. Something was all screwed up in the kid’s chemical makeup, a matter that had been causing him no small amount of confusion.

  The glasses were somewhat of a secret project of his. They were a prototype he’d been working on for a few years now; only Charleen and Cajun knew them to be more than a pair of shades. But even they didn’t know the full depth of their purpose or usefulness. Harley had learned the importance of keeping his inventions quiet. He’d come to Foundation with a head full of ideas, inventions meant to better society, to protect it. He’d thought Foundation was just the place to get those inventions mass produced and out to the everyday person living in fear on the streets. Instead, Foundation had swooped in and taken control of every detail, right down to the napkins he’d jotted ideas on. They took them and pawned them off through the government channels, sharing only with people rich enough to fill their pockets in exchange. Harley hadn’t breathed a word of invention since then. They’d tried forcing the ideas from him, but he’d held strong, feigning ineptitude. Eventually they gave up, tossing him into another position where they deemed him more useful. But he knew they still watched him, and everything would change if they ever found out about his little undercover hobby.

  He still invented; a lot, actually. But now he was smarter about it, making all inventions at a secret location and keeping everything on the hush hush. If Foundation knew he’d created glasses capable of seeing the chemical makeup of every individual, he’d never see light of day again. They came in handy when weeding out the infected from the everyday Joe. He could even catch the telltale signs of someone with a cold, and their current emotional disposition. The glasses weren’t necessary for someone in Harley’s line of work, though he’d found himself becoming rather attached to them, if for nothing but providing a shield between him and other people. Certain ones in particular. They came in handy, and if he could find a way to mass produce them, one day maybe they could help the regular people out there without his particular advantages.

  They worked based off of heat patterns, stress signals, the chemical readings of the genetic makeup, as well as the pheromones emanating from the skin. It all came down to the colors. Some shouted danger, some a quietly approaching death from disease or old age, others told whether the person was just plain having a crappy day. But Amiel? Her colors didn’t match any of the colors he’d come across in the time since he’d created the aviators. Granted, the glasses were still in the test phases, and that meant they were filled with their own glitches and hadn’t come across all of the available genetic make-ups in the world. It could be Amiel was perfectly normal. Or it could be like Caj had said, and she had a split personality that brought about the different colors. Maybe, just maybe, the pieces of metal around her neck could have something to do with the alterations. Whatever it was, his instincts were torn on the matter. They didn’t sense any sort of danger from her, yet they didn’t trust her either. He probably should have shared this information with his brother and Charleen, but his inner darkness felt a sort of territorial duty toward the kid. Until he found out one way or another, he would quietly sit back, watching and waiting. Harley’s attention snapped back to the present conversation when Cajun flicked him in the nose.

  “It’s a rather valid point, don’t you think? Maybe you should find out if she’s lying or not, before you go any further with this promise of yours. Just saying, brother.”

  “Yeah,” Harley agreed, rubbing his neck.

  “And if you decide to train the girl in the end, I’ve every confidence you can handle it. It’s going to be hard, there’s no denying that. But if anyone can do it, it’d be you, Harl.”

  “What if my instincts kick in and I hurt her?” Cajun looked at him carefully, all too aware of the uncharacteristic worry in Harley’s tone.

  “You train new recruits all the time. Just treat her like one of them.”

  “Her head ain’t as hard as theirs,” Harley reminded him.

  “So don’t aim at her head, and it won’t go cactus.” Cajun winked, slapping Harley on the back. Harley’s gaze narrowed, but he couldn’t help returning a small reflection of Cajun’s smile. His dweeb of a brother tended to have that effect on everyone around him, especially when he used his completely off the wall Aussie lingo. He didn’t bother asking for a translation this time.

  “That’s better. Chin up, mate. We’ve got a real hullabaloo ahead of us tonight, can’t afford
to have you moping around. First night of Blood Moon Mania.” His grin broadened, and Harley followed him back toward the barracks. Despite the cheery show his brother put on for blood moon hunts, Harley knew how much it worried him. His mate was in danger all week long, and there was nothing Cajun could do about it, except try to be at her side through the whole ordeal. Harley pushed thoughts of Amiel from his head, intent on being there to back up his brother and his mate in every way possible.

  Chapter 20

  Amiel

  Amiel cleared away the dishes on the counter, looking at the clock for the hundredth time that night. She didn’t know why she kept looking at it, it wouldn’t have the answers she needed. With a sigh she grabbed a cloth and set to cleaning off the countertops. Tonight was slow, and she had little to keep her mind preoccupied. It had been two weeks since Harley had promised to train her. Two weeks since she’d seen or heard from him. She was trying to be patient, but she was finding there was little of that on hand.

  She covertly pulled the cell phone from her apron pocket. Tandy had informed her during one of their phone chats that he’d given Harley her number before he’d left for home. She’d hoped that he would call her, or text her at least. But the phone had no more answers for her than the clock did. For the millionth time she wondered if maybe she should be the one to contact him. But maybe she’d already scared him off with forcing him to have breakfast with her. If that was the case, pestering him on the phone would make matters worse. Crinkling her nose at the phone she shoved it back into the pocket. Maybe he hadn’t gotten a hold of her because he’d changed his mind, but didn’t know how to tell her, so he simply ignored her. Or maybe he’d just been busy.