Edge of Instinct: Rabids Book 1

by Amy Cook

  She was still staring at the card with a bemused smile when Harley reappeared. His hair was wet and he wore a new black t-shirt and black jeans that fit him perfectly, emphasizing every muscle while still looking comfortable. She showed him the card as he shrugged into his jacket, and he scoffed.

  “Cajun. Big dope.” She wasn’t fooled by the dismissive tone. It was clear in his eyes how much he cared for his brother, and he appreciated that his brother had been looking out for him the best he could.

  “I gotta head to Foundation before they send someone to hunt me down. Thanks for the shower, kid. And the hair cut. And, well…ya know…everythin’ else.” He rubbed nervously at his neck, before walking toward the front door.

  “Y’all still wanna train?” He stopped with his hand on the knob, abruptly blurting out his question. “After all this, I’d understand if ya changed your mind. Might be best if ya did.”

  “I’d love to,” she said quickly, before trying to cover her eagerness. “If you feel comfortable doing it, I mean. I don’t want to put you in a difficult situation, out of a sense of duty to your dad.”

  “I got us a place to train two weeks back. Didn’t get a chance to tell ya yet, I’ve been so busy.” He looked her straight in the eye, gaze grabbing her in that intensely bold way of his. “If I thought I’d be a danger to ya, I’d say no. I think my Hybrid side’s just fine with you now. I’ll train ya hard, but I’d never intentionally hurt you, Amiel.” She practically beamed at him.

  “I know.” He searched her face for any hesitancy. Finding none he nodded and opened the door.

  “Tomorrow, ‘round noon?”

  “Oh! Yeah, sure, noon sounds good!” Her cheeks hurt she was grinning so big. He rewarded her with a grin of his own.

  “Locks. Don’t forget to use ‘em.” He reminded her sternly, before turning and disappearing down the hall. Amiel leaned back against the door, carefully latching each new lock. Her fingertips lingered on one, tracing the cool metal. His workmanship was seamless. She smiled softly, touched by his caring enough to fix the locks for her. She’d earned herself a pretty great friend. She headed for the bathroom to clean up the rest of the hair on her floor. His goofy fish shirt sat folded neatly on the counter top, the hair that had been on the floor swept into the trash bin. Grinning she grabbed her phone, fingers hesitating over the keypad.

  “Forgot your googly-eyed fish shirt, Superman,” she texted, biting her lip as she waited for a reply. She nearly dropped it when it buzzed with an immediate reply.

  “Keep it.” She blushed, running a hand over the soft gray fabric. The phone buzzed again.

  “Or toss it. Whatever y’all wanna do.” She smiled at the way his accent carried over into text. Grabbing up the shirt, she noticed the hair had been carefully brushed from the fabric. Bringing it close to her nose she inhaled deeply. It carried that warm spicy leathery scent of his that she adored. She had a feeling she’d always miss it if they ever stopped being friends.

  “Thanks. I needed a new fish shirt,” she replied jauntily.

  “Dweeb.”

  Her grin widened, and she had to rub her cheeks to alleviate the ache there. She was doing an awful lot of grinning lately. Her face didn’t know how to handle it. A glint of silver in the mirror caught her eye, and she found herself staring at the dog tags hanging from her neck. She ran her fingertips across the bumped up letters of Jaron’s name. She had until noon tomorrow to build up enough courage to let Harley in on her own secrets. He deserved to know the truth.

  Chapter 25

  Harley

  Harley sat in his room, staring at the screen of his computer. He’d left Amiel’s apartment three hours ago and his skin had been itching with some strange sensation ever since. If he didn’t know better he’d think he was anxious. If he was a wimp like that. He sighed running a hand through his shortened hair. Okay, so maybe he was a little bit of a wimp when it came to Amiel.

  He wasn’t entirely sure how to feel about this whole situation. With Cajun’s cancer and then joining Foundation, Harley had dedicated much of his life to looking after himself and his brother. Even when growing up, he’d fought to fend for himself, not letting his father or brother do things for him if he was capable of doing it himself. Tandy had easily given him his way, being a single dad out of his element and unsure of how to do the job alone. Cajun had teased him, but eventually let him do as he pleased, too. Harley still hated being in anyone’s way, or being beholden to them. Now this tiny girl was coming in and changing things. He was good at taking care of other people. He wasn’t so good at knowing how to accept others taking care of him.

  He caught his dim reflection in the screen before him, attention drawn back to his new haircut. It was shorter than he was used to, but he had to admit she’d done a much cleaner job than he did on his own. He had always been the one to cut his and Cajun’s hair. It wasn’t perfect, but it served its purpose. Caj’s was easy. They’d kept it buzzed short when he was sick, and now that he was a Hybrid, he still preferred to keep it fairly short. He’d adopted his fiancés view on it being less for the Rabids to grab. Harley however hated having his hair too short. He felt like a preppy goof ball. And if avoiding looking like a yuppie dweeb meant occasionally losing a few hunks of hair that would grow back in a few days anyways, well then he was just fine with that. He’d been terrified that Amiel would ruin it, turn him into some sort of Ken doll wannabe. That’s right, he’d been quite literally terrified in that moment; terrified of the hair cut, terrified of hurting her if his Hybrid didn’t accept her coming at him with those scissors. And definitely terrified of the things her scent and close proximity were doing to him.

  It had been sheer triumph when his Hybrid looked at her holding those scissors, and for lack of a better way to describe it, had laid back, content to simply watch what she would do. He had to give it to the kid. Whatever it was about her, his darker side accepted her in a way it had never accepted anyone, except his Pops. Even with Cajun there were moments of tense uncertainty between the two of them. They could sense the dominance that they both held in their growing pack of Hybrids. They each held their own place in that pack, each with their own authority. As such they didn’t feel the need to compete with one another. But at times, there were situations in their duties that came alarmingly close to those boundaries, and they both felt that wary need to keep their distance, carefully watching one another for a false move. But with Amiel? There had been very little hesitancy. Sure there was that momentary freak-out when she pulled out those sharp scissors, whirling around a little too fast for his comfort. But all things considered, he thought it had gone rather well.

  It didn’t help that Harley had been nervous, which put his darker side on alert. But when she’d looked him in the eye and said, ‘It doesn’t trust me?’ his Hybrid had jerked to the surface, surprise and curiosity evident in its actions. Harley had stared at Amiel through those dark lenses of his Hybrid nature, examining her, gauging her. He could feel his darker side’s thought process racing. She healed us, sheltered us, fed and protected us. Would she betray us now? The answer had come surprisingly fast and without hesitation. No, she wouldn’t. She is part of us now.

  The darkness had receded just enough to give Harley full rein, though it remained near enough the surface to watch her. But it did not watch her in the way of a cautious predator. It watched her with curiosity, and fascination. It wanted to know her every move, to memorize the sway of every muscle and strand of hair as she moved. Harley had grinned then, feeling at one with his darker side in a way that was truly rare for a Hybrid. They both wanted the same things, and those things revolved around the tiny girl in front of him. He’d joked about not eating her, his relief making him a bit too free in his humor perhaps. But she’d taken it in stride, and both sides of him had relished it.

  Harley was glad no one else could see him now, flushing as he thought about the way he and Amiel had joked back and forth, honestly enjoying one another’s company. Th
e freeing feeling that accompanied their easy going banter had been exhilarating, enticing, even quite possibly addicting. Harley knew he was a serious guy, knew he was difficult for people to get along with or relate to in any way. In his line of work it was imperative that he maintain that calloused and dominant demeanor. And he’d always thought that he was just fine with living his life that way. He hadn’t realized until this afternoon just how exhausting it was sometimes, always having his guard up, always ready for a fight. Bantering back and forth with Amiel had been…liberating. He’d been able to relax to an extent. He’d made jokes, he’d freely talked about certain aspects of his Hybrid lifestyle that he usually kept very private.

  It had been difficult when the subject of putting down the other Hybrids had been raised. He’d felt incredibly defensive and dirty in that moment. It was part of his life, and it was for the safety of everyone around him. But that didn’t make the act any easier. He spent a large portion of his life killing, yes. But the rest was devoted to teaching and guiding those that were new to the pack. Some of the new recruits were annoying as heck and he wanted nothing more than to beat them over the head. But they were still of his pack. He felt a certain amount of responsibility towards them. He knew the pain they suffered, had felt their same fears himself when wondering if he’d one day be in their position. It was never easy being made to destroy the hard work he’d put into them, snuffing out the promise that they had shown. It was never easy knowing that one day it might be Cajun he’d have to kill, or vice versa.

  But when he had reacted so darkly to her innocent question, she had simply grabbed his hand, squeezing it comfortingly. Understanding rather than judgment had reflected in her beautiful green eyes. She’d been relaxed, bringing relaxation to his tense body. She’d asked for and listened to his guidance on how to behave around him, to make him comfortable with her without provoking his Hybrid nature. She’d joked with him, been playful with him and it had been a breath of fresh air.

  If Harley was dark and serious, his Hybrid side was twice as bad. But she was able to draw even that side of him to her light. She was like his own mini sunshine. He may not be used to someone else taking care of him, but his time with Amiel this week had only cemented her place in his life, and he would do anything to protect that lil squirt now. He could honestly say that he truly thought of her as a friend now. And while being honest, he had to admit that he was in very real danger of someday yearning for more. That put them both in dangerous territory.

  He pinched the bridge of his nose thinking back to his hair cut. She’d been so close, touching him so intimately. For a Clean, getting a haircut was no big deal, no more intimate than sharing a taxi with a stranger perhaps. For a Hybrid? On top of letting her near him with a potentially dangerous weapon, he’d let her put him in a submissive position, for pete’s sake. Sitting on that damned cold toilet seat, he’d been lower than her, head downcast, while she did whatever she liked. The warm scent emanating from her skin had yet to lose the hints of his blood. Beneath that was the confusing mixture of her own scent with the new oddly dangerous edge to it.

  He’d grown to enjoy her scent far too much, these past months. Her fingers slipping through his hair, rubbing at his scalp, tugging at it to cut it…it had been infuriatingly enticing. He’d had to ask her to stop talking about his darker side, because she was bringing out that strange and uncomfortable stirring sensation in it again. As close to the surface as his Hybrid was, with the way she was touching him, it had been watching her with too much fascination, preening with each curiosity she expressed about it.

  When she’d swatted him, not once but twice, he’d reacted on a playful side of instinct he didn’t even know he possessed. He’d slapped her back, on the thigh no less. He hadn’t swatted her hard he knew, but he had touched her in a far more intimate way than he’d ever even allowed himself to think about touching a woman. He’d even blushed like a complete wuss, fumbling for an apologetic reason behind his behavior.

  He may have been terrified of women his whole life, but he’d always been taught the proper treatment of them. He’d been embarrassed by his actions, and sure that she’d angrily kick him out. Instead, she’d taken it in stride, just as she always did with everything. She’d laughed and blushed right along with him, joking in a way that relieved his strained emotions and muscles. The shock of his reaction should have been enough to rein in any further intimate responses from him. Yet he’d felt even more alarmingly close to losing it.

  And what’s worse? As much as he would have liked to, he couldn’t entirely blame his Hybrid for that fact. Because in that moment he and his Hybrid had been in complete sync. When she moved to stand between his legs, thighs brushing his, he’d panicked. She didn’t even seem to have noticed how close her chest had come to brushing up against his face. She kept chattering away, following him when he’d pulled back. He’d had to dig his fingers into his thighs and squeeze his eyes shut to maintain control of his gentlemanly side. He’d nearly run out of there before she was finished.

  His eyes returned to the screen before him, glaring at it the same way he had been for the last two hours. Growling quietly he finally poked at the keys, entering the information he’d need to achieve the current fool’s mission he was on. Artisans Dream sat in the search box, daring him to put the final nail in the coffin by pressing enter. With a curse he slammed the enter key, harder than was needed, then waited. Jaw in palm, elbow resting on the knee that was currently bouncing in agitation, he reconsidered his current mental stability. What was he doing? Was he really searching for a boy band right now? He clenched his teeth when the videos popped up, and he chose the first one he came across. The music played out, the beat peppy and cheesy just as he’d knew it would be. His eyes sought out the lead singer. Darius, his Hybrid side sneered, and Harley agreed wholeheartedly. The fool bounced around in a pair of too-low hung yellow leather pants that only a guy batting for the same team would wear. You would think that alone would be enough of a deterrent to the girls in the crowd. Instead, they screamed, begging to be his wife with little homemade flowery heart covered posters. Girls were clueless. But he supposed he had to admit the guy’s voice wasn’t completely terrible.

  His door bust open and Harley jumped a foot off the bed, immediately slamming the screen down on the laptop. Cajun’s goofy grin was firmly in place, though it was crooked with mischief as he glanced from Harley’s rigid position, to the laptop at his side. His eyes narrowed and Harley knew he was in for it.

  “Were you just listening to a boy band?” The glee in his voice was barely disguised.

  “Shut up,” Harley growled darkly. It only seemed to ignite Cajun’s interest. Cajun shut the door behind him, leaning up against it with folded arms. His face conveyed how eagerly he awaited the reasoning behind what he already knew to be the truth. Harley growled in defeat, running a hand through his hair in frustration.

  “Amiel mentioned it earlier. I was curious. End of story.”

  “Ahh, I thought I detected A Meal Potpourri in the air,” Cajun said with a smirk. “What did she say then?” Harley crossed his arms, brooding. “You know I’ve got the patience to wait as long as it takes to get the answers. And of course if you don’t give them, I’ll just go straight to the source.” Harley’s eyes narrowed, his Hybrid stirring in agitation. Neither of them liked the idea of that.

  “She said she couldn’t picture me looking like some priss named Darius, from a group called Artisans Dream. And that he had a nice voice.” Cajun scowled, fully in big brother mode now as he strode to the bed and flopped down on it.

  “Well let’s hear it then.” Harley stared at him for a moment, debating. Finally he flipped open the screen. Cajun always got his way. The music began where it had left off, and they both sat there watching it as intently as they would any ops mission surveillance video.

  “Well, that’s just not natural,” Cajun would spout on occasion. To which Harley would reply:

  “Do women actua
lly find that sort of thing attractive?”

  “He looks like a kanga on crack,” Cajun would agree.

  “He’s got pubes for facial hair,” Harley would add. Their insults continued as the videos rotated through the multitude of other songs and performances the band had done. At one point the door opened and Charleen’s face poked in. Her lips parted in question, freezing as she took in the situation. She stared at both of them, left brow arched high as they looked up in a disgusted trance, the music still going. Her eyes bounced from one of them to the other, before she shook her head and left without a single word. Their eyes were drawn back to the screen, watching the last of the horrifying car wreck that was considered the height of music today. By the end they sat back, a heavy silence in the room.

  “We shall never speak of this to anyone,” Cajun vowed. Harley nodded mutely. They sat silently for a few more moments, emotionally scarred to the point of paralysis.

  “Well, I think it’s safe to say that her commentary on your appearance not matching that slug’s was a compliment,” Cajun finally remarked, slapping his own knees as if to emphasize his assurances.

  “Ya think?”

  “Definitely. From what I’ve heard, Amiel’s a smart bird. She wouldn’t be fool enough to think that lair was spunk.”

  “Huh?” Cajun’s goofy Aussie words were always confusing, especially when he bunched them all up like that. Cajun squinted, thinking.

  “Uh…Lair. It’s like a guy that dresses with flashy bad taste. And spunk, that’s good looking. Hot.”

  “Huh,” Harley muttered, staring at the blank screen, absently running a hand over his hair.

  “What happened to you anyways? You look less of a bitzer today.”

  “What?” Harley shook his head. “Never mind. I don’t want to know.” He rolled his shoulders. “Amiel cut the burnt bits out.” Cajun pursed his lips, then nodded.