Instinct Ascending: Rabids Book 2 (19 page)

“Wow.” Amiel’s voice was full of awe as she pulled the suit out of the bag to fully examine it. “This is amazing, Harley! It really is like my own superhero suit.”

“It’s meant to help protect ya from infection and wounds,” he supplied, still fighting that urge to yank at his collar. “I guess maybe if you’re immune, ya don’t have to worry about the infection part now. But it’ll help lessen the amount of gashes their claws’ll put in ya. It’ll help manage your body heat, too; keep ya at an even level. Hybrid bodies have to be wary of extremes in either direction, though to a lesser degree than a Rabid. Ya might not need that at all, considerin’ you’re a mystery and all. I just added everythin’ I could think of. It’s a smart fabric, too. Once it gets ripped, I’ve got tools that’ll meld it right back together like it never happened.” He grinned proudly, pointing out all the places he’d made secret pockets and holsters and sheaths for her weapons.

“Can I try it on?”

He grinned, grateful she’d asked. “I was hopin’ ya would. That way we can make sure I don’t need to make any minor adjustments or somethin’ before I turn it over to ya.”

Amiel gave a little squeal before running toward the bathroom. Harley moved toward the windows, twisting the blinds open to get a good look out into the night. His eyes perused the streets, slipping into patrol mode as he waited for her to come back out. Searching the night, patrolling, had a way of calming him, centering him. And he needed a bit of that after all this sensory overload he was experiencing.

He suddenly froze, eyes shifting back to the right where he’d have sworn he had just seen movement across the street. The hairs on his skin prickled upward, his Hybrid pacing restlessly. They both felt something out of place. Yet, search as he might, his sensitive eyesight found nothing. Frowning, he considered heading down to investigate.

“This thing is amazing, Harley!”

He turned just in time to see Amiel launch herself at him. His arms instinctively stretched outward, catching her as gently around her ribs as he could.

“Careful, Thumbelina, you’re gonna break yourself again,” he murmured into the hair pulled over her shoulder as she wrapped her arms around his neck for a huge bear hug. Damn it all if she didn’t smell even more amazing than a few moments ago. Her feet dangled, tapping lightly into his shins, her little body feeling secure and safe as it pressed into his.

“Nope! Not possible. I’ve got my hero gear on now!” She hugged him closer. “Thank you so much, Harley. These are some of the best gifts I have ever been given.”

“Naw, don’t worry about it, kid. I enjoy tinkerin’.”

“But they must have taken you so long to work on. You should be proud of that.” She slid down and his heart lodged in his throat as she did several spins away from him, arms held out to the sides, giving him an eyeful of what he’d just gotten himself into.

“And it fits so perfectly! This fabric is incredible! I feel like I could be the size of a yeti and it would still mold to fit perfectly.”

His mouth went dry and his eyes forgot how to listen to commands. He was telling them to look away, but they stayed glued to her form like a complete lecher. She kept talking, unwittingly twisting the knife of torture further in his gut.

“And it moves with me like it’s not even there! I bet fighting in this is a breeze!” She slipped the glasses back down over her eyes and threw out a few careful punches in the air; she bounced up and down on her toes as she dipped and zigged, crouched and bounced back up to throw out a few more.

Harley liked to think of himself as a gentleman: a man who always respected the form of a woman, and didn’t have to put much effort into avoiding looking at it altogether. Yet in this moment he felt himself entirely devoid of those skills. Maybe he should have chosen a different fabric combination. The material stretched over her body like a second skin. It left very little to the imagination and very little breath in his lungs. In reality, it probably wasn’t that shocking. But to Harley, it was heart-attack-inducing.

Honestly, he hadn’t even considered the possibility that she would come out of the bathroom in the suit, or without anything over top of it. He figured she would check it over in the bathroom, make sure it fit, then take it off and come back out. He was entirely unprepared for this, and entirely unraveled. Normally he hated that feeling; right now, he was probably in too-deep shock to feel it.

“Uh…” He coughed, the movement allowing him to rip his eyes away long enough to pin them on the wall at his right. “That’s actually meant to be worn under your clothes,” he hinted, trying not to show just how off-balance he was. “You know, so you can wear it to work and everywhere. It’s light and thin but strong and durable… so y’all can wear it to work and everywhere,” he repeated, babbling as his eyes inevitably drifted back toward her.

“Wow, that’s really convenient!” She gushed with praise, pushing the glasses back on her head, arms out wide to examine them in the light as she moved. “I think it rocks by itself, too, though. Has that edgy crimefighter appeal, know what I mean?” Mischief grew in green depths. “Now I’m officially the Robin to your Superman.”

“Superman didn’t have a Robin,” Harley protested distractedly.

“He does now,” she corrected triumphantly. His muscles loosened slightly, his lips tipping in unconscious effort to match hers. He was finally getting himself under control. And then… “Maybe I’ll wear it both ways; layers for secrecy at work, sans the extra layers for convenience in fighting while we’re on patrol.”

Oh boy.

“You know…” Her face suddenly turned thoughtful. “I feel so much more confident now. I think that maybe I might actually have what it takes to do what I have to do now. Thank you so much. You really are amazing. I am so grateful to have you for my friend, Harley. I don’t know what I would do without you.” A soft, glowing grin began to emerge, transfiguring her face into a masterful piece of heart-stopping artistry. Seeing that grin on her face was almost worth the gnawing of worry and panic in his gut, the one that promised to be his constant companion for the next many long months of stressful patrols with Amiel at his side.

“Right back at ya, kid. Glad ya like it.” Finding strength within himself, Harley turned back toward the window, hands gripping the window frame above each side of his head. “Why don’t ya grab your stuff so we can get ya home to rest. Been a long day for you, I’d wager.”

“Gosh, yes! You would not think a week of lying around would make that much of a difference. My feet turned into total wimps in that time.”

Harley didn’t release his breath until the bathroom door shut behind her.  Yanking the blinds upward on their cords, Harley pressed his forehead against the cool glass, reveling in its chill. The mantra sifted through his lips in a harsh whisper.

“Not the time, never the time. Not the time, never the time! Not the… uggh, Harley, ya damned fool, get ahold of yourself!” He needed a new method of control. His mantra was broken.

Raider

He watched from the shadows as she climbed onto the bike with the Hybrid. The idiot Hybrid was so lost to her that he didn’t even smell him, and his instincts didn’t warn him of the danger lurking just at his back. If he wanted to, the Raider could take her from the mutt right now. Rip her from him as he ripped the man’s throat out, both in one fell movement. His hands clenched at his sides. But now was not the time. She still wasn’t ready.

His insides burned as she wrapped her arms around the mixed breed, a small, satisfied stretch to her pink lips. It instantly brought back to mind the way she’d thrown herself into the mutt’s arms earlier, clinging to him, face aglow with joy.
He
had no right to give her that joy… it was the Raider’s right alone, and the mutt had stolen that from him.

The Raider had watched the whole display from the street below: watched as she clung to the Hybrid in that alluring outfit. It made his body shiver with the need to kill. He closed his eyes now, drawing in a deep, shuddering breath of her scent, before she disappeared down the street. Yet it brought him little pleasure, despite its growing allure; because no matter how marvelous she smelled, it was still intermingled with the scent of the Hybrid.

Images from their embrace in the window returned. The Hybrid had touched her, held her, in that outfit. The Raider could practically feel the sheer need rolling off the mutt when he had turned away, pressed himself to the glass in an effort to dispel that need. The Raider understood need; he understood desperation, sheer and devastating cravings. So he recognized them in others when he saw them. The girl had a way of bringing such needs in a man to the surface. No matter how dark their souls, her light beckoned to them.

Roaring in frustration, the Raider ran into the night in search of outlet. He found it in an elderly man, crouched amongst the trashcans in an alleyway, relieving himself. The Raider’s eyes searched the night in disgust, hoping another escape would present itself. The smell of this one was abhorrent. Yet there was no one else, and the need to kill burned within, seared him like acid, and he knew this would have to be the one to taste of his internal pain.

The Raider waited until the man teetered across the street, readjusting his pants as he moved along. He let him walk ahead for some time, giving himself plenty of space from the smell, drawing out the pleasure of the hunt.

When he could wait no longer, he attacked. The minutes stretched long, possibly into hours, as he shredded the vile rodent. His mouth watered as he held the still heart in his grasp, the scent of blood and madness calling to him. A battle waged within him, twisting and tormenting. He yearned to touch his tongue to the feast before him, to lap up the red juices that cried his name, to sate himself on the victory of the kill.

The weak muscle exploded in his grip, oozing between his fingers as the Raider breathed raggedly.  He couldn’t eat the heart. He couldn’t eat any of it. His master would know, and his master would ruin everything if he discovered the truth before the Raider was ready to act.

The heart fell onto the carcass, adding to the gory mess.  The Raider looked down at himself in conflicted rage. He was a mess, not just from the gore, but internally. His kind was not meant to be subjected to mastery, from others or themselves. Yet loyalty was bred into him, because of his creation alone. His master was a harsh taskmaster, but he had given him life, given him much. Still, he could not give him everything. Not only that, but he’d given him the key to his destiny, yet cruelly denied it to him at once. And the Raider was tired of waiting, tired of being told no.

His face lifted to the sky, searching for the scent that made his black heart whole. It was she and she alone who was meant to be his mate, and he would have her. But she wasn’t ready.

Standing, the Raider stalked away from the carnage, a calm returning and settling deep in his gut, the burn for violence quelled to a distant promise. He had just enough patience left to give her the time she needed. He could smell her ripening, blossoming from within. Soon, she would be ready for harvesting. Soon, the world would quake in terror under their reign.

Harley

Blood dripped from his face as he slammed the sword through the Rabid’s neck, severing it from its emaciated body. The head rolled to the ground, large eyes grimacing up at him as though cursing him from the grave. Harley nudged the head to its side, facing it away from him.

He looked across the rubble and body-strewn streets, eyes searching for any sign of life to extinguish. Cajun came walking toward him with a grin, his own body covered in gore and sweat. Charleen was at his side, looking royally pissed off, as was the norm for her around this time. Blood Moon Hunts were not her favorite.

“Still alive, I see, brother.” Cajun slapped Harley on the shoulder.

“Always,” Harley replied in turn. It was the same dialogue each Blood Hunt. It was their way of assuring one another was safe and sound, and giving their manly sort of seal of approval on that fact without getting into the mush. Kyree, Tyson, Greeves and Jackes walked up in the distance, all worse for wear, but alive.

Cajun looked out across the carnage they had reaped, a satisfied expression on his face. If you didn’t know to look in his eyes for the truth, you’d think he had enjoyed the whole mess. But Harley knew his brother, and he didn’t need more than a glance to see it had taken its toll on him, just as it did them all. It wasn’t as bright as it once was, but it was still there. And as screwed up as it sounded, that haunted look in your eyes was actually a good sign. It meant your humanity was still in there somewhere.

“Death owes me a commission,” Cajun stated. Charleen rolled her eyes, but exchanged a glance with Harley. They both knew his statement for what it was. Humor was Cajun’s way of dealing with pain — always had been and always would be, as long as he was still in touch with his good side. And their look was a shared expression of relief in the knowledge that Cajun was still with them. They both had reasons to worry that wouldn’t always be the case, not with the way his brain was screwed up. Cajun caught their exchange, face screwing up in mock defense.

“Well, he does! With as much business as I bring the guy, you’d think he’d cut me a share of the goods.”

“I don’t think he cares for makin’ deals, Caj.” Harley smirked. “You’re still alive; I’d say take it and be happy about it.” 

“Who says Death is a man?” Kyree snarled, coming to stand far too close for Harley’s liking. He took one big, obvious step to the side and forwards a little, not even bothering to meet her gaze. Some might think he was backing down to her, but in the Hybrid world his actions spoke of deep disdain.  He could practically feel her anger deepening.

The woman was crazy. She had always been crazy, but ever since he’d accidentally pelted her with his boot, she’d taken it as some sort of twisted declaration of intention. Now the weirdo was always popping up somewhere, staring him down in a way that made him cringe. She either wanted to lick him, or stab him: maybe both. Nasty.

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. I’m so sick of men making everything to resemble them. Women hold way more power than men do. Men are just too asinine to realize it, until they’re shown,” Kyree growled, her gaze shifting to land on Cajun as she spoke, making it clear exactly who she was addressing. The rage stirred from fighting always brought the Hybrid to the surface, always made a Hybrid at its most dangerous; and in this case, at its stupidest.  Kyree was dangerously close to challenging Cajun with her words.

Cajun folded his arms over his chest, eyes alight with dark mischief. He was going to enjoy this argument too much, and the relief Harley and Charleen had shared earlier dimmed. Harley didn’t like that look.

“This is the stupidest
conversation
I’ve ever heard,” Cajun remarked. The harpy scowled at him.

“That’s because you’re a man, and your brain can’t make sense of anything. You’re a moron. Women should be leading with our QueenLeader, not you.”

Kyree was a through and through feminazi. Harley had utmost respect for women and their contributions to the world. His family had ensured to drill that home to the marrow. But there was a difference between women who were proud of their sex and accomplishments, and women that jumped on every possible moment to one-up men.

Amiel: now she was a classy example of a perfect woman. She held her head high with an inner strength that shone to all with eyes, and she did it without grinding men under her heel. She held a strength and intelligence that was radiant, attractive and empowering. She didn’t feel threatened by men, and therefore didn’t feel the need to squash them. And she wasn’t too proud to admit when she needed help.

Charleen was another example. She carried such awesome power that it could be staggering, yet she never flaunted it. And with that quiet, radiant power came the respect of all who were near it.

Kyree, on the other hand, enjoyed harping on anything and everything the men around her did. Eagerly degrading them about the tiniest details sustained her like life-giving breath. She was hard: crusty on the inside and out. No matter her somewhat pleasant looks on the outside, her actions made her uglier than any physical beauty could cover.

Most days, Harley ignored her. But today, his troll-o-meter had reached its max, and he couldn't stand another one of her harpy attacks. She had issued a challenge to his brother, and Harley was stepping in to snuff it out before it escalated. She was toeing a line. If she crossed it, Cajun would have to act. And his brother was dangerously toeing his own line: the line of sanity. Harley wasn’t about to let her push him over it with something as stupid as asserting her nonexistent dominance.

“Well, let’s see.” Harley spoke, eyes not leaving his brother as he goaded the girl’s wrath toward himself. “Death accompanies illness, catastrophic disasters, and utter pain. No one is ever happy to see it comin’ their way, and do what they can to avoid it. Yet it hounds ya till your last breath.” He shook his head. “Nope, the dude is right, Caj; death is
definitely
a woman.”

“Did you just call me a dude?” Kyree hissed angrily, stepping closer in another challenge. Harley spared her a quick, dismissive glance.

“Ain’t nobody alive that could confuse ya with bein’ a woman. There ain’t a single ladylike quality about ya. Now shut up and do somethin’ useful with your time somewhere else.” He tightened the internal reins when he heard his accent thickening. He wasn’t going to let this chick get the better of his temper; she wasn’t worth it.

From the corner of his eyes, he saw her raising her hand like a claw, and an internal dread rose with it. He hated hitting girls. But she was moving past the realm of putting her in her place verbally. If she outright physically challenged him, he’d have to physically put her in her place, or lose control of the entirety of the Hybrid ranks. He’d lose his place of succession, and therefore his ability to protect his brother. And that was quite simply not something he could or would do. His fists clenched at his side, prepared to act.

There had been a few times when he’d had to put a female Hybrid down because she had become crazed from their lifestyle. He could count those times on one hand. He avoided it when possible, and when not, he put them down as quickly as he could. Yet they always haunted him. He saw his mother’s face in every single one of them as the life left them. So it was a huge relief when Charleen moved forward, saving him from having to act. Her hand shot out, constricting around the woman’s throat, nails digging into soft flesh. Kyree cried out in a garbled scream.

“You dare to challenge my First, and strike my Second?” Charleen hissed, mottled rage burning in her cold eyes. Harley’s breath caught, and he wasn’t the only one. All the Hybrids surrounding Charleen froze, heads bowing slightly under the sheer power that the woman exuded. Kyree instantly went still, fear in her own gaze.

“Aggression toward my kin will end with your torturous death. I will rip your entrails from your body one by one and strangle you with them if you look in their direction again.”

Kyree went limp, her skin so pale it was nearly translucent. Charleen dropped the woman in a disgraced heap, and then promptly turned her back on her.

A hush fell over those assembled as Cajun also turned his back; their collective gazes swung to see what Harley would do. Kyree grasped her bleeding neck, head hung in degradation. Harley felt an uncomfortable twinge inside. No matter how ugly the woman was inside, she was still a woman, and no woman should have to cower on the ground. Seeing her bow her head, demoted to nothing better than the dirt beneath their feet, it made the gentlemanly side in Harley regret.

Yet he could hardly let her challenge them so blatantly, or it would result in more challenges in the future, and possibly push Cajun over the edge. With Hybrids, a tight leash had to be kept, or all Hell would break loose. He steeled himself against the weakness within, blocked off the emotions as he turned his own back.

“Forgive me, First,” Kyree gasped wretchedly, clearly aware of how close to peril she stood. Cajun stood rigid, not responding. A long silence followed, before a soft touch was felt at the top of Harley’s booted foot, Kyree’s hand gently cupping it in a show of deference.

“Forgive me, Second.” Her voice was gravelly from the chokehold Charleen had placed her in. Harley’s muscles went rigid and he silently stalked toward the jugs of gasoline in the back of Cajun’s SUV. He tossed one to Cajun and Charleen, nodding dismissively to the other Hybrids, giving them permission to disperse and attend to other duties. He ignored the girl as she climbed to her feet and disappeared into the darkness. Sloshing the gas over the bodies with a single-minded determination, Harley moved quickly through the carnage, still ignoring the conflicted emotions he held on lockdown. He was more than ready to get out of here.

The other Hybrids disappeared into the inky night, spreading out to head in their own directions now that the Blood Hunt was complete. Charleen nodded her own permission to Harley before stepping into the car. Harley moved forward, tossing a match on the nearest body. Flames instantly rushed to life, spreading over the Rabid bodies, cleaning the area of their infection. Cajun placed a conciliatory hand on his shoulder.

“Thank you brother. I was… not myself.”

Harley nodded silently. They watched the flames for a moment, letting the situation burn away with the bodies.

“Tonight the night?” Cajun finally spoke, changing the subject. Harley sighed, another gravity shifting to lie heavily across his shoulders.

“Yeah.”

“Let us know if you need us.”

“I won’t,” Harley replied firmly. He was taking Amiel out on her first patrol tonight. His Hybrid held an eager sort of anticipation that edged on the verge of stupidity. Despite their combined worry of the dangers, his Hybrid was eager to see the girl in action again, to fight at her side. It also didn’t particularly care for the idea of sharing that excitement with his brother and his fiancée. Besides, they’d done their parts, and it was too dangerous for either of them to be running about tonight: Charleen with her allure, and Cajun with his edgy attitude. And if Harley were honest, his Hybrid was wary of Cajun being near his charge, with the unpredictable way he was acting tonight.

Cajun stiffened for a minute before his shoulders sagged with an air of defeat. Understanding shone in his gaze, and it was a kick in Harley’s gut. Neither of them liked what they saw in Cajun tonight; and they were both helpless to change it. His brother straightened, cheesy grin forced back into place.

“Be safe then, mate.” Cajun saluted before jogging to the car. Harley’s eyes shifted to meet Charleen’s, and he offered a bow of his own head, giving her a silent thank you for her actions. She nodded in reply, no words needed; just like they didn’t need words to convey their shared worries for Cajun.