Instinct Ascending: Rabids Book 2 (12 page)

Was it possible for a Hybrid’s feelings to be hurt? Was that why it was lashing out at her in this way? She thought back to the way Harley’s Hybrid had reacted to her in the past, its suspicions, and its approval. Of
course
it was possible.

Amiel’s head fell back against the chair. Harley had pointedly told her that the Hybrid was merely a separation of their minds, no more a separate entity than your own hand; though even he referred to his Hybrid as though it were a living thing, simply because it
was
separate, if only in the mind. Either way, whether the Hybrid was a living essence or just an extension of her own mind, Bryn was right. Amiel could not ignore its presence in her life, nor its demands.

“Okay. I get it. But to be fair, I didn’t know about any of this. Only a few months ago, I was a normal girl, with a normal body. Now I have all these weird, whacked-out things happening to me, and I don’t know how to handle it or where to begin. It’s like being hit with a triple dose of puberty.”

Bryn grinned, the tension in the air evaporating.
“That’s not a very pretty picture.”

“Not at all.” Amiel couldn’t fight the small grin that tugged at her own lips. “So, how do I fix this? I can’t keep sleep-fighting every night. I’m wearing down, and this last experience is something I never want to go through again. I almost died. Besides, waking up in the middle of nowhere in the dark, cold and unprotected, isn’t exactly the best way to be a Rabid-fighting machine, instinctual needs or not. Not to mention I just can’t seem to protect myself against Cleans.”

“I can understand your point,”
Bryn conceded
. “But the fact remains: you need to start fighting Rabids on a regular basis or this is going to keep happening.”

“
Okay. This change from day to night shift will likely provide plenty of opportunities for fights.” Amiel sighed in defeat. “Provided I still have my job after this.”

“That’s not enough,”
Bryn refuted.

“Not enough?” Amiel’s mouth hung open. “What more does it need?”

“You need to start learning control, Amiel. Without it, we are lost,”
Bryn hedged.

“And what exactly does that mean?”

“Have Harley train you. Not just physically. You need to start learning the ways of controlling your Hybrid. Have him take you on patrols with him, to give your Hybrid plenty of time to be out and play. If it feels it has done its work, it won’t be pushing for control as often. And speaking of control, you need to learn how to access it on command. If you can learn how to access it on command, that gives you more control over making it go away on command. And perhaps eventually you will be able to fight against humans as well — when need be, for protection, of course.”

“Convince Harley to take me on patrol with him?” Things were just going further and further down the drain here. “He won’t buy that. His job is to keep me from dying. He’s not going to love the idea of putting me in the heat of it,” Amiel argued. “We saw how that went last time in the warehouse.”

“But he did allow you to do it, when he realized it was something that you needed,”
Bryn pointed out.
“Harley may want to protect you, but he is also smart enough to understand that there are different ways a person needs protecting: physically, yes, but also emotionally and mentally. I don’t think he would keep you from fighting if he knew that you were going completely nutty on the city at night because of it. He is your guardian, yes, but he is also your friend. Talk to him. Explain it. I am sure he will help you.”

Amiel bit her lip. Bryn knew Harley all too well. She slapped a misty hand to her forehead. When was she going to get it through her thick head? Bryn = Amiel. Amiel = Bryn. Of course she knew him all too well! She just happened to be good at bringing Amiel’s subconscious thoughts and feelings to the surface and voicing them.

“You’re right.” Amiel hesitated. “I have to admit, my hesitancy also stems from my own fear. Harley was right when he said I risked infection every time I fight. I’ve been so lucky this far, but eventually that luck is going to run out.”

“Again, what makes you any different than a Hybrid?”
Bryn stood, and began walking away. Amiel stared after her in a daze, before jumping to her feet and giving chase. The room began to darken, the fog closing in on them until Amiel could no longer see Bryn.

“Wait! Come back!  Are you saying I’m immune to them, too?” Silence. “Bryn! Bryn, come back!”

“You wanted to wake up, so wake up, you big dope.”
The whispered reply met her ears as Amiel felt herself being swallowed in the darkness. She struggled against it, but it wouldn’t relent, pulling her under like a riptide. It filled her eyes, ears, mouth, suffocating her. She sank under the darkness with a silent scream upon her lips.

Amiel

She surfaced, her entire essence enveloped in a burning hunger. She did not have a name; she did not exist at all except within that desperate sense of hunger. The scream on her lips was no longer silent, and it shifted from one of fear to one of anger. A primal depth of instinct skittered across her skin, making her itch with an unknown desire. She fought to breathe, gasping desperately, yet a vice seemed to be wrapped about her chest, stopping the full intake of oxygen.

“Easy, kid.” The voice floated toward her, a soothing balm in the midst of a raging inferno. She knew that voice. Her eyes felt a desperate pull to find the owner of it. The room around her was an odd shade of gray, and it shifted in a strange sort of wave, as though she were looking at the world through a fish bowl.

Finally, a face moved into view and something deep within her answered to the image. That same something within told her that she should know the face, yet it eluded her. Her teeth bared in a grimace of confusion, a desperate, questioning sort of growl issuing through them. The man froze, a primal air taking residence in his own stance. His eyes flared as they grasped hers, and instantly she felt caught up in a current, pulled into the darkest depths of those glacial orbs. A name surfaced then, floating about in a disembodied way along the waves. The man had a name.

The word never made it to her lips. Instead, a mewling whimper replaced the growl in her throat, her head twitching side to side as she searched the strange world around her. It bombarded her with sights and sounds beyond comprehension and comfort, in return.

“Amiel.” The man’s voice coaxed her to return her gaze to him
. Yes… Amiel
, she thought. Amiel felt familiar. A frown marred her lips. The word felt familiar, and yet it wasn’t right. Her hands lifted to clasp her head, eyes squeezing shut as the recesses of her mind convulsed. She felt divided, conflicted within as though different portions of her were assaulting one another.

She flinched back, growling in warning as the couch beneath her shifted under the weight of another. Her eyes popped open, taking in the man’s careful stance. Ever so slowly, his hands reached toward her. He hesitated when she pulled back further, though the determination in his eyes didn’t allow her a long reprieve. Their current sucked her back in, demanded she acquiesce to its pull. She fought it valiantly, afraid of losing herself in its flow. He gripped her wrists, his touch firm yet gentle, the skin contact sending a euphoric sort of tremble deep into the depths of her soul.

“Thumbelina. Come back to me,” he whispered, his words permeated with power, resonating in a way that brought a shift of clarity. She blinked, gaze interminably locked within his. The hunger returned. She still wanted, still
needed
, and still hungered; though now the needs were intermingled with different forms of hunger.

She stopped fighting the pull, let herself slip into the current with a sense of surrender that she felt was somehow meant for him and only him. The current enveloped her, devoured her. Instant, euphoric warmth and comfort filled her from within, drawing a gasp from her parted lips. His feelings wrapped about her in an internal embrace, speaking to her in a way words never could. It pulled her closer, inside and out. Her arms relaxed in his grip, allowing him to pull her hands away from her head. Her limbs loosened, body moving toward his silent beckoning. His body answered, shifting forward to meet hers.

“That’s my girl,” the man stated confidently, voice holding a raw edge to it. “Come back to me.”

She wanted nothing more than to give him what he demanded. But first, she
needed
. The need gaped wide within her, a demanding, bottomless pit that left her writhing with desperation. She had no idea how to satisfy it, yet somehow she knew the man held the answers. Ignoring her lips, she pushed outward with her mind, wanting him to feel and know every ounce of those needs. His eyes widened as she pressed against his arm, her eyes begging him to fill her emptiness, to dissipate her unrelenting hungers.

“I need the Gatorade and food,” he ordered, though his eyes never once left hers, keeping their connection wide open. She felt the presence of another in the room, yet she didn’t deem it worthy of acknowledgement. Acknowledging it would sever the current that she rode, and that was quite simply unbearable in this moment. She felt safe within his current: needed, wanted and understood. The other presence approached, and though she didn’t break the bond's flow, her lips pulled back in warning. The other did not feel threatening; she simply did not like their close proximity.

“Just put it on the floor and back away.” The man spoke to the other, and her approval swept toward him on the current. She liked that he respected her needs and aversions. His breath hitched as her approval washed over him, his surprise evident in the return flow. He released one of her wrists to slowly reach toward the floor. Instantly, she felt a barren sensation with the loss of his touch, and her free hand gravitated toward his face.

His breath hitched again as her fingers pressed to the skin of his cheek, and she felt her lips quirk at the edges in a mischievous response to his reaction. She wondered if he felt the same intense flow of sensation from touch that she did. Feeling a hint of playfulness, her fingertips slid down his cheek to smooth along the rasp of new hair where it grew along his jaw. A pleasurable shiver skated along their connection and his eyelids drew downward to slightly hood his eyes. Her grin broadened.

“Stop that,” he warned, though his threat held little strength. “You’re distracting me.” Just to vex him, her other hand pulled away from his grasp and joined the one on his face. She felt his stern but forgiving displeasure in her blunt disregard of orders.

“Knock it off and drink this before ya get in trouble.” The cracking of plastic met her sensitive ears, followed by the tangy-sweet scent of fruit. The rim of a plastic bottle was pressed to her lips, and she drained every ounce of it, ensuring that she shared her appreciation of the act in the current.

It was a primal act, perhaps odd even, yet one ingrained deep within. He had provided for her, and she in return needed him to understand her thankfulness. The liquid lapped at the edges of her hunger, the flavors washing over her tongue with a blissful satisfaction she couldn’t get enough of. He watched her with a fascination she could not name, yet recognized on that same primal level they shared. She licked her lips as the bottle disappeared, reveling in every droplet left behind. Still the hunger beckoned, and she pushed outward in the connection to let her needs be known. His lips turned upward at the corners, eyes glittering with mirth.

“So bossy,” he playfully censured, though he immediately answered her needs with another proffered gift. This one came in the form of a salty meat, raw and juicy. Her hands left his face to fasten onto the hand offering the gift, as though to ensure he wouldn’t retract it. She bit into the steak with pleasure, an unrepentant moan of gratification vibrating up her throat as she swallowed and went in for another chomp. More gifts of food and drink followed; she lost track of how much she devoured in the quest to relieve the hunger.

At last, when the most pressing of hungers were addressed, she turned to the only remaining need. It burned low within, an ache that flexed as though searching for respite. Pressing outward with one final request of him, she waited. Uncertainty flooded back to her in response. She pressed back with a second wave of the request, refusing to back down.

“Uh…” He rubbed at his neck. “You ain’t exactly in the right condition for that, kid. You’re already movin’ ’round too much,” the man replied aloud. Her eyes widened, filling with pleading for his cooperation. Perhaps she pressed too hard, because the wave of her desperation washed over him with the grace of a tsunami, staggering him. Setting his jaw, he nodded.

“Shove over, then,” he grumbled gruffly, slowly lying on his side on the edge of the couch. “Ain’t enough room on this damned thing.” He cleared his throat. “Excuse the language.” She smiled around the yawn that split her lips.

Suddenly infinitely groggy, she moved to slide down between the couch and his body, comforted by the closeness on each side. She lay on her right side, her head resting on his arm and nose pressed into his chest. She pulled as deep a breath as the restriction in her torso allowed, filling her lungs with the heady scent of leather and the one thing that calmed and fulfilled her most.

“Harley.” The word slipped from her lips with a smile as she slipped back under the cloak of unconsciousness.