Edge of Instinct: Rabids Book 1

by Amy Cook

  “Penny for your thoughts, suga.” Joyce flounced against the counter top at her side, happily popping away at the gum in her mouth. Her bubbly demeanor never failed to bring a smile to Amiel’s face and heart alike. Joyce made everything fun, and every day brighter. Amiel counted herself lucky to have found her as a friend. Amiel bit her lip, debating on whether to confide her problems on the matter or keep it hush hush. She didn’t know why she should keep it quiet. Harley hadn’t exactly told her not to tell anyone about him. Yet the topic of Harley seemed to be a sensitive one for Amiel. Given his size and dangerous capabilities he was clearly able to take care of himself, but Amiel couldn’t help feeling protective of him. It didn’t help that everyone he met seemed to have it out for him. She glanced at her redheaded friend, who wiggled her eyebrows, waiting for the goods. Finally breaking, Amiel tossed down the rag and leaned closer to speak more privately.

  “Joyce…what does it mean when a guy promises to call you, but then he never does.” Joyce pursed her lips, thinking.

  “How long’s it been?”

  “Two weeks.”

  “Hmm…who is this guy exactly? A friend, new acquaintance, boyfriend?”

  “Um…friend, and fairly new acquaintance,” Amiel said hesitantly, trying to put to words their unique relationship.

  “It means he ditched you, biznitch,” Sunshine snarked as she walked by them with a bucket full of dirty dishes. Joyce grabbed the dirty rag from the counter and chucked it at the retreating teen. It hit her full on in the back of the head, and stuck. The girl turned around with stark rage and disgust on her face.

  “What the hell, Joyce! That’s disgusting!” Joyce made shooing motions with her hands.

  “So is y’all’s face. Boo, hiss, get thee back to thine lair, devil! And watch your dirty tongue.” Sunshine scowled as she tried to shake the rag from where it stayed lodged atop her head. Arms full of dishes as they were, she couldn’t yank it off until she put them down somewhere. She scurried off into the kitchen, cursing Joyce the whole way.

  “Don’t worry about that lil bottom feeder, Amiel. She obviously ain’t never had a boyfriend that weren’t fed by batteries.” Amiel’s face reddened, but she couldn’t contain the laughter. Joyce had a rowdy sense of humor. Sunshine shouted something else entirely unladylike, obviously knowing their laughter was directed at her.

  “Seriously though, darlin’, I wouldn’t worry overly much. I know it’s an awful long time to wait, but men don’t seem to run on the same clocks we women do. He probably don’t even realize it’s been a week, much less two.”

  “You think so?”

  “Sure do. Looky here, honey bunch, I been married for twelve years. You’d think the man would know a woman’s birthday by now, right? Nope, that man don’t remember a cotton pickin’ thing. Then, just when I think he gone done and forgot again, he shows up with a buncha roses, and a goofy poem that he thinks is romantic. It may be a few weeks late, but it’s the thought that counts.” Amiel smiled at the warm glow of love that reflected on Joyce’s face. “Man’s a forgetful thing honey. Be understandin’ and flexible, and they’ll rarely disappoint ya. If he’s a good man to begin with, that is. And if he ain’t, he ain’t worth the time of stewin’ for him.”

  “He is a good man,” Amiel noted firmly. Joyce winked, pinching Amiel’s cheek.

  “Then I reckon he’ll be ‘round again before long.”

  “Thanks, Joyce.”

  “Anytime, suga. Just call me the love doctor. I can fix anythin’ in the love department.” She glanced toward the kitchen. “Except maybe for that one in there. Could probably find her a man, but I wouldn’t do somethin’ like that to any man. Even Stint.” Joyce walked toward the cash register with an exaggerated roll in her hips, winking at a customer as he walked up to pay. Pouring on her sugar, as she liked to call it. Joyce got amazing tips. When the costumer had left, Amiel decided to try asking one more question.

  “Joyce, have you heard of a gang with tattoos on their necks?” Joyce dropped the roll of quarters she’d been breaking open to put in the register, her eyes wide.

  “Now why would you go askin’ somethin like that, darlin’?” Amiel watched her reaction carefully.

  “I just heard a rumor, that’s all. I know I haven’t been here very long, but I sure haven’t seen anyone like that. The person who told me isn’t very reliable, but I was curious.” Joyce slowly bent to pick up the roll of quarters, taking her time.

  “Well, I can’t rightly say I’ve heard ‘em called a gang before,” Joyce mused. Amiel waited impatiently, wanting to know anything she could. She hadn’t expected to actually find anyone else that would confirm Darvey’s ramblings.

  “But…?”

  “But I have heard of ‘em, the ones with the tattoos on the neck. I try to keep my nose outta stuff like this, and if you’re smart y’all will, too,” Joyce cautioned sternly. “But…I’ve seen one of ‘em myself.” Her confession was grudgingly given, but Amiel eagerly prodded for more information.

  “Really? Where? When?”

  “It was a girl, ‘bout a year back. She had short blonde hair and blue eyes. Pretty as all get out. Only saw her for a few minutes though. I was ridin’ the bus home back then, cause I didn’t have no rough bike ridin’ bestie to tote me ‘round at night.” She winked at Amiel. “But I knew she was one of them, cause I saw the tattoo. Didn’t much believe in the rumors before that night. She was standin’ by the road starin’ at us in the bus as we went by. She was all covered in blood with eyes cold as ice.” Joyce shivered.

  “She was…covered in blood?” Amiel asked, feeling her stomach bottom out. Somehow when she pictured Joyce’s story, an image of Amiel herself filled the space of the blonde haired woman. Covered in blood, just the way she had been so many times coming out of a blackout. Joyce shrugged, waving a hand in the air, breaking Amiel from her frightening thoughts.

  “Said I don’t know much about ‘em, darlin’. But I’d say if y’all ever see one of ‘em, you’d best high tail it outta there. Better to be safe than sorry, right?” Amiel nodded, letting Joyce quietly go back to sorting the cash register while her thoughts shifted.

  She didn’t know any more about Harley’s tattoo than before the conversation took place. She couldn’t help but feel a small amount of guilt for her snooping further into the matter, too. Clearly the best way to find her answers would be to ask Harley about the rumors herself. But was her curiosity really worth risking their delicate new friendship? And maybe it should have, but Joyce’s story hadn’t made her any more afraid of the meaning behind Harley’s tattoo than she had been before. Her loyalty to their friendship was still just as strong as before she’d asked. The story would have been scarier to Amiel, she supposed, if she didn’t know the darkness that lay within herself. If she hadn’t found herself pulled from that darkness, covered in blood far too often in her own life.

  Nothing was black and white in Amiel’s world anymore. So who was to say the lives of the owners of the tattoos were black and white either? She had a feeling that there was more grey to the story than she or anyone else knew. Turning her back to Joyce she covertly peeked into her pocket, only to be left with a feeling of dissatisfaction. She’d ask Harley about all of this herself, face to face. But first she had to hear back from the guy.

  Chapter 21

  Harley

  Harley was hunting in the Outskirts when his sensitive nose suddenly caught wind of the scent that had been engraved into his consciousness. Sweet, warm, alluring, enthralling. Amiel. Just as soon as the enticing effects of the first wave of her scent ebbed, a wave of worry followed. That was quickly replaced by a cloud of anger. What in Hade’s Pits was that girl doing down in the Skirts? The scent was faint, but not difficult to follow. It never was. Steps light and quiet, he quickly tracked it.

  But as he neared the source, the girl’s scent twisted and changed, turning bitter and foul. He paused then, instincts jarring and spitting warnings. Amiel wasn’t here. Her
scent was there, but it was layered over top of a man’s scent. His nose was instantly at war with itself, thirsting for Amiel’s warm scent, and raging against the other. Something about the situation felt incredibly wrong making Harley’s metaphorical hackles rise. He stalked toward the scent, darker side eager to pummel another stalker. The girl seemed to collect them by the droves. Himself included, he admitted grudgingly. An unsettling thought suddenly blindsided him, and he felt the unwelcome sensation of doubt. What if this guy wasn’t a stalker? For all he knew, the dude permeated with Amiel’s scent could be her boyfriend. He found himself at a crossroads, examining his motives.

  Was he really hunting this guy down for Thumbelina’s protection, or were his darker instincts making some form of uncalled for personal claim on the kid, a claim beyond protection? Due to the promise he made his pops, Harley had started down a dangerous path that meant devoting far too much time to the subject of Amiel; something that was never a wise decision when you were a Hybrid. Lines were becoming blurred, and his instincts were playing too deep a role in his reactions.

  Devoting such concentration on one subject brought out the possessive side, whether you wanted it there or not. Add in the whole damsel in distress, body guard, possible friend and babysitter act, it was all a bad idea waiting to happen. He let a small growl issue from his throat. Was it really any of his business who was around Amiel? He had never seen her around another man, except for the ones at her job. She didn’t seem particularly interested in any of them, but as a guy, he wasn’t exactly the best judge of girly emotional stuff, so maybe she was? Harley drew in another deep breath, grimacing as the man’s scent assaulted his senses. What kind of people was this kid hanging out with? Anyone hanging out in the Skirts was either crazy, or up to no good. If she were his little sister, he wouldn’t consider that prime dating or friend material.

  Harley ground his teeth. He should leave it alone, he knew he should. Aside from being her reluctant body guard, he had no claim over the girl. Of course, what would it hurt to search out the source of the scent? The girl definitely had a way of attracting trouble, and something about this guys scent was giving Harley seriously sketchy vibes; the kind of vibes that left him desperately wanting to search out the source and tear it apart. He felt edgy, his instincts behaving as though he were facing a real danger. His Hybrid side didn’t care what the situation was, it wanted out to play. And that was definitely not a good sign of his ability to stay detached in his babysitter slash friend gig.

  Harley stood in the alleyway, mulling over his decision, hands stuffed deep in his jean pockets. There was a damp feeling in the air, forewarning of an imminent rain storm. Once the rain started falling, the scents would be washed away, and the decision would be made for him. Anger boiled in the pit of his stomach. Why was he doubting himself and his instincts? Who cared who the guy was when Harley’s instincts were shouting foul play at him?

  He had spent the last several years working hard to maintain a chokehold grip on the baser side of his reactions. He refused to turn caveman like most of the others did. He refused to be ruled by his emotions. His tightly maintained self-control was the reason he’d been given the responsibility of training new recruits. After the first few months of his new life, Harley had garnered enough control to never break, never back down, and never let his instincts control him. He was perfect for the role of containing the newbies’ unpredictable behavior. He worked in harmony with his darker side, using its assets but never losing control of it. Yet one slip of a girl comes waltzing in, begging protection with nothing but those dangerous big green eyes, and he might as well be the new recruit with the way his instincts were dragging him around by the nose. Literally, by the nose.

  Unbidden, the image of Amiel rose in his vision. Being her friend was even harder than he thought it would be, and he’d only just begun trying. The girl was driving him crazy, and she didn’t even have to be present to do it. In the two weeks since he’d told her he would train her, there had been an upswing in rabid activity. They could handle it, but it kept him busy enough that he’d been slacking off on his babysitting duties. He still tried to make it over to her job in time to follow her home, but he’d missed several nights lately. Tonight was shaping up to be one of them. Which made him worry far more than it should. If this schedule was going to keep up, he’d have to find someone he trusted to trail her home on the nights he couldn’t. That idea made his stomach sour, too.

  Harley refocused on the matter at hand, ruling out the kid being involved with this guy. He didn’t know the girl real well on a personal level, but having watched her so closely over the last few months, he felt confident that she had more sense than to meet some shifty looking guy in the slums. That night with the thugs seemed to have shocked some sense into her. These days she went to work, or the store, and then straight home. She no longer frequented the seedier parts of town to go to the dumb little quaint stores. The most rebellious action on her part, was dropping her friend off at home after work. She learned from her mistakes, learned to never come to places like this, and surely learned to avoid being intimately involved with people who did.

  A heavy rain suddenly poured from the dark sky, masking the scents of the night. Glaring, Harley finally shoved away from the wall, intent on the hunt before him. He hated having choices taken out of his hands, even if the offender was as innocent a thing as rain. He was going to hunt this guy down, get a feel for the situation, lay down some ass kicking if he had to, or walk away if there was no need. His Hybrid side didn’t like the idea of walking away from this, but he would deal with that if the time came.

  The deeper the vague scent wound through mazes of decaying buildings and debris, the edgier and more confident in his quest he became. Whoever this guy was, he wasn’t up to any good. No one came this deep into the Skirts with good intentions. Harley scowled at the fact that that was exactly what he was doing himself. Shoving the thought aside he concentrated on the darkness surrounding him. The longer this took, the less likely Harley was to find the guy. The rain had all but obliterated the scent trail.

  His muscles went taut as he came around a corner and spotted a man on the steps of an abandoned factory ahead. Feeling slightly naked without all of his senses intact, Harley settled in for some visual recon. Slipping into a comfortable crouch, Harley watched the man, and his suspicions were confirmed. Something about the dude was off, easily visible, even from this distance. Grabbing the glasses from where he had stuffed them in his jacket so they wouldn’t get wet, Harley’s eyes narrowed. A stiff wind suddenly blew in his direction and his skin tightened. The glasses revealed the truth to the secret behind the man’s bothersome scent, though it came as a surprise.

  As though sensing his conclusion, the man suddenly swiveled, eyes searching the darkness with a predatory gleam. Harley froze. Darvey? Harley’s eyes and senses warred with one another. The man standing in front of him was the spitting image of Darvey, but the smell was completely off. The guy may look like Darvey, but his scent was all wrong, and it wasn’t the scent of a Clean or a Rabid.

  Harley’s hands clenched at his sides, trying to orient himself with the situation. Darvey might stink with all sorts of crazy, but the Darvey in front of him reeked like a Raider; a Raider with an unusually screwed up smell that had thrown Harley’s nose completely off. One might think that this meant Darvey had been Turned. But that didn’t fit together at all, because Darvey was a sniveling worm not worth the time or effort of Turning. Not only that, but this guy’s scent was too strong to be a fresh Turn. The scent of this one put him as having been infected a long time ago.

  Darvey’s twin crouched low, scanning the dark, mouth pulled upward in a smirk that showed his barred teeth. Whatever the hell was going on with this guy, he reminded Harley of a rat. Harley hated rats. It made him want to whack the dude in the face with a bat, even more so than his look alike did. Harley’s arctic eyes landed on the bundle dangling from the Rat’s hand. Squinting, Harley released
a silent string of curses. He’d recognize his Pop’s handiwork anywhere. Especially when he’d been following the owner of that jacket faithfully for months now. What was the Rat doing with Amiel’s jacket? Harley’s instincts hissed warnings of a trap.

  Her jacket swung back and forth in Mini Darvey’s grasp like a maddening beacon, and it took far too much effort to rein himself in when the dude lifted the jacket to his face, drawing in a deep breath of Amiel’s scent. The guy was obviously just as much of a sick pervert as his look alike, and he must have stolen the coat from her. Yet having seen the way Amiel dealt with Rabids, it seemed unlikely the guy would be here if he’d taken it from her directly. Harley went utterly still. Unless of course the kid was laying in the street somewhere, hurt, or worse. To his knowledge she had never fought a Raider. Seasoned Raiders were a lot harder to take on than run of the mill Rabids. Could she handle that? Instantly Harley’s mind switched to rearranging the Rat’s face with his boot instead of a bat. He would enjoy that so much more. With a deep grating growl of challenge, Harley stepped from the shadows.

  “Where’d you get the jacket, Tinker Bell?” The man didn’t jump in shock or fear the way Harley had hoped. Instead he stared down Harley’s imposing approach with a mixture of excitement and hate.

  “Finally! I was wondering when you were going to pull up your panties and step out of those shadows, filthy Hybrid.” Harley froze at the man’s gravelly voiced reply. Had he been so distracted with thoughts of the kid, that he’d somehow given himself away to a slimy Raider? Or had the Rat been trying to lure him here in the first place, thus expecting his arrival? Given the recent encounter with Darfunkle, it was possible that he’d sent his evil doppelganger to dispatch his competition. Harley set a to-do list up in his mind. He was going to get Amiel’s jacket back, rearrange this guy’s butt-ugly face, and then go find her. Quick and simple way to end the night.