Instinct Ascending: Rabids Book 2 (26 page)

Charleen nodded, turning to face her as they pulled up in front of the apartment complex.

“I know, and I respect that in you. The ability to think of others above yourself is an admirable trait.”

Amiel blushed, unsure how to reply to that. “This was really fun, Charleen. And it helped take my mind off my worry.”

“It was fun. I am glad it helped you as much as it helped me. I know we did not fight Rabids, but I hope it was enough to appease your other side until Harley returns. I have a feeling he will not be away for long.”

Amiel’s eyes widened. “You know? About my other side?”

“Of course.” Charleen nodded with a soft smile. “Harley talks to Cajun, and Cajun talks to me. And no matter how much of the puzzle the both of them try to keep from me, I am good at putting pieces together.” She looked away, expression solemn for a long moment. Finally she breathed a pleased sigh.

“It is not often I get to enjoy the companionship of another woman, without her trying to steal my mate or position.”

Amiel grinned brightly. “No worries there from me,” she promised. “I’d like to do it again sometime. If you are open to the idea.”

“That would be nice,” Charleen agreed. “I will speak with Harley about a scheduled arrangement.”

Amiel hesitated, with her hand on the door. “You are certain he will be all right? Should I maybe send him a text to check up on him? No, that’s a bad idea. The sound might bother him in his Collapsed state.”

Charleen chuckled quietly to herself at Amiel’s one-sided argument. “Harley will be well. Trust in his strength.”

Amiel nodded, sighing heavily. Charleen was right. She’d just told Harley the same thing about herself in the gym the other night, hadn’t she?

“You’re right. Thank you, Charleen. Have a wonderful day.” She moved to climb out of the car, pausing when Charleen called after her. 

“Remember, Amiel. When the storm rages within, find your center.”

Amiel nodded her thanks, and headed inside the gates. Charleen waited until she saw her enter the building before driving away. As Amiel unlocked her door, her gaze fastened to Darvey’s door down the hall.

She knew she should feel remorse for the loss of life. In a way, she felt badly that he had been so crazy it ended with his death. However, when his door didn’t open at the sound of her approach, when he didn’t come bounding down the hall with that crazed expression in his eyes, when she knew she could sleep with the TV off if she wanted to, she couldn’t help the small smile of relief that spread across her lips. The smile spread when she realized Harley could now hang out here whenever he wanted, without them worrying about what Darvey had planned next. She slept with that smile on her face, though she kept the TV on. Old habits die hard.

Amiel

Amiel woke slowly, and it took her a long moment to realize what had woken her. The tags were tingling against her chest in a way she’d been missing for five days. She sat up excitedly, expecting to hear a knock at the door. Instead, she realized he was already in her apartment: curled up at the foot of her bed, in fact. Amiel’s eyes widened as she took in his appearance.

First, she noticed her foot once again in his hands’ grip. She grinned, beginning to wonder if Harley had a bit of a foot fetish. He’d touched her feet often while he was Collapsed, he’d held her feet when she was Collapsed, and now here he was again, touching her foot. Coming from anyone else, that might be a bit creepy, but from Harley? Harley made everything endearing.

Next, she noticed he had his jacket on, but it was open in the front, which gave her a very clear view of his entirely bare chest. What had happened to his shirt? He shifted slightly on the bed, and his pants made an odd, crunching sound. Biting her lip, she slipped forward on the bed, careful not to move him or dislodge her foot from his grip. The back of his pants was caked in mud. Leaning closer, she realized it wasn’t just mud. She lightly touched her fingertips to the denim, and they came away red. Blood. Amiel’s heart jumped into overdrive.

“Harley? Harley!” She urgently pushed the hair from where it fell across his face, noting his cold, damp skin and hair. He surged upward from the bed, immediately dropping into a defensive position in front of her, protecting her.

“What? What’s wrong?” He blinked blurrily, eyes settling on her. “Kid? What’s wrong?”

Amiel rolled off the bed, relieved he wasn’t dead or comatose on her mattress. But the fact of the matter was, he was covered in blood, his skin suggested a fever, and she was still in freak-out mode. She grabbed his hand, pulling him toward the bathroom before he could object.

“Kid?”

She didn’t answer, yanking the lapels of his jacket back so that it slid off his arms and fell to the floor with a heavy thump.

“Uh… Thumbelina?”

She continued to ignore him as she walked around behind him. The freak-out kicked up a notch when she found his back covered in a thick slather of dried blood.

“Thumbelina?”

She yanked open the shower curtain, turned it on full blast and shoved him toward the tub.

“What the… okay, okay. Gettin’ in.” He moved willingly, stepping into the hot spray, pants and boots still on. She peered around behind him, watching as the blood washed away. It unveiled a vast array of raised scars zigzagging across the expanse of his back. But none of them were still bleeding. He didn’t complain as her fingers smoothed over the scarred skin. He slowly reached around, grabbing her arm and pulling her forward so he could look into her eyes. 

“Amiel.”

She shook her head, fighting the tears that threatened. “Where are you hurt?”

“I’m all healed up, kid.” His voice was soft, soothing.

“No, your pants have fresh blood on them; you have to be hurt somewhere…” 

Harley gently lifted her chin. “I’m fine, Amiel. I promise.”

She stared up at him, watching the way the water cascaded over his hair and face; he was so patiently standing in a stream of water while she did her crazy act. His eyes reassured her, his grin comforted, and she caved. She jumped into the tub, throwing her arms around his neck. He froze for a minute before chuckling and wrapping his arms around her.

“Miss me, kid?”

She squeezed him harder.

“Guess so.” The grin in his voice brought warmth to her heart that had been cold all week.

“Where have you been?”

“Charleen told me she came for a visit a couple times over the last week,” Harley replied. Amiel nodded in the crook of his neck. Charleen’s meditation visits and assurances of Harley’s safety had been the one thing that had kept her grounded. 

“After the lashin’, I Collapsed for a few hours. Then they tossed me out in the Skirts to patrol. I’ve been kinda runnin’ on autopilot since then. I didn’t have a chance to clean up after the lashin’; most of the blood on me is from that. It’s been rainy outside, and a tussle with some Rabes sent me rollin’ down a hill and for a swim in a monster puddle. Guess my pants just didn’t dry yet.”

She pressed her cheek to his, noting the skin was already warming under the heat of the water. That meant he wasn’t truly feverish, he’d just come inside from the cold rain.

“So you’re not hurt?”

“No kid, I’m not hurt.” He grinned against her cheek, and she felt her muscles relaxing as the hot water poured over them both. Her fingers found the scars on his back again, the muscles moving in reaction to her touch.

“They really did a number on you,” she whispered. Harley shrugged.

“I survived.”

She pulled away enough to stare up at him. “I’m sorry I freaked out. I know you’re tough, but I was still worried.”

“They didn’t let me take anythin’ but my jacket. Didn’t even have time to grab my shirt, much less my phone. And they wouldn’t let me leave till my punishment was fulfilled. Four days of community service in the Skirts.” He grinned shyly, one hand rising to wipe water from his eyes. “Sorry I kinda crashed your place. Probably ruined your blanket.”

“Blankets can be washed. And you know I have told you to use your extra key for that reason, Harley. You are always free to come and go from here as you please,” she assured him, hands sliding down to his chest as she lowered to stand flat-footed in front of him. He had long ago admitted to having made an extra key to her place, just in case. He’d acted like she would flay him for it, but in truth she was relieved. It saved her the embarrassment of trying to give him one herself.

“I probably shoulda just gone straight back to Foundation and called ya… but,” he said, licking the water from his lips, eyes locking with hers, “I needed to see ya.”

Her face melted into a big mess of goofy, and he smiled a shaky grin in return, cheeks flushing. “I meant to just stop in and check on ya, but I guess I kinda passed out.”

“It’s okay — you needed your Collapse foot fetish,” she teased. His nose scrunched up in that cute way of his, face mixed with confusion and humor alike.

“Say what?”

“You seem to enjoy touching my feet, especially when Collapses are involved.”

“I do, don’t I?” The statement seemed like more of a surprised self-realization than a question. He stared hard at her, locking her into that current they shared. When he spoke, she felt every word of it down to her toes.

“It’s instinctual. It’s how I show my respect and trust, my depth of… intimacy with you.” He swallowed, stepping closer, hands rising to grasp her face. “It means I bow to your will.”

“You bow to no one,” she whispered, suddenly feeling a little breathless.

“I do to you.” He picked up a thick, soggy strand of her mahogany hair, pressing it away from her face. “Which explains why I’m standin’ in the shower, mostly dressed.” He grinned softly, and the absurdity of the situation hit her. She threw her head back, laughing so hard it hurt her stomach.

“Apparently I decided I needed a shower too.” She looked down at her clothes, suddenly grateful she hadn’t been wearing a white shirt. Harley watched her with that gentle grin, his thumb brushing across her lips, quieting her laughter.

“I love to see that smile.” His eyes shifted upward to meet hers, arctic gaze depthless and utterly unguarded. Harley never let his guard down. The fact that he trusted her enough to do so now took her breath away. He’d been more open with her the closer they became, but he had never fully let the walls down. Now, truly seeing into his soul for the first time, she couldn’t help but think how beautiful it was.

“Your smile… it’s what got me through the lashin’. I was at the end of my resistance, ready to crumble. I kept desperately prayin’ for a way to withstand, prayin’ for strength. And then your face was there. Your sweet smile, beautiful eyes: they grounded me, gave me the strength to finish.”

Amiel stared up in him in awe, his confession lifting her heart.

“I was the center of your storm,” she whispered happily. He nodded, stepping closer still, gaze intensely focused on her lips. Suddenly he jerked, letting out a funny little whoop and dancing away from the spray of water.

“Holy crap, that’s cold!” That gut-wrenching laugh returned as she climbed out of the shower, pulling him along with her and shutting off the water. They both stood shivering and dripping on the floor.

“My hot water runs out in ten minutes here.”

Harley scowled at the shower head. “Guess that’s one way to save on the water bill.”

“You’re a good man, Harley Coaver.” She grinned over at him, the subject change catching him off guard.

“It happens,” he teased, a boyish curve to his lips, and an air of relaxation to him she’d never seen before.

“So modest,” she returned playfully.

“And so freezin’.” He shivered, gently pushing her toward the door. “Go get dressed, so we can go get me somethin’ to wear. We got work to do.”

Amiel let him push her the rest of the way out the door, but she didn’t immediately change when the door shut. Instead, she leaned up against the door jamb, biting her lip to keep the squeals inside as her head fell back. She’d been the center of his storm.

Amiel

Harley pulled up to the small clothing store on the street, shivering as he helped Amiel off the bike.

“Damn, its cold ridin’ on a bike with wet pants. Excuse the French.”

“Tell me about it.” She laughed, pointing to the legs of her Robin suit. The fronts of her thighs that had been pressed to the backs of his for the short ride were now soaked through. Though nothing compared to his.

“Wimp.” Harley smirked, reaching for her hand and pulling her toward the store. The bell above the door rang as they walked through, and Amiel braced herself for the usual glares that accompanied Harley’s tattoos. A surge of protectiveness rose within her. She was ready with her own arsenal of glares and angst if they so much as looked cross-eyed at him.

“Harley.” The store keeper glanced up from his magazine only for a moment, offering a nod of greeting before returning to his reading. “More stuff in your size came in last night.”

“Thanks, Craig.” Harley saluted, pulling Amiel toward the back of the store. Pleasantly surprised, she leaned closer to whisper.

“I like him.”

Harley chuckled, walking through an employee’s lounge and pulling a box out from under the table.

“Craig’s a good guy. We’ve had a long-standing, unofficial business partnership for years. I’m in here every other day, with the way Rabids are always wreckin’ my clothes. He makes sure there’s stuff in my size, and I think my clothing purchases alone keep him in business. He don’t much care who the money comes from; business is business, in his eyes.” He left her outside to peruse the store while he changed.

When he came out in a pair of black jeans and tight black t-shirt, jacket in his free hand, hair falling messily around his face, Amiel pretended he didn’t have her stomach in knots.

“You clean up all right, Superman.” That was an understatement. Harley rolled his eyes good-naturedly.

“Dweeb.” He quickly paid the clerk, purchasing a couple of Yorkshire mints and pocketing them on the way out. “Those are for later. If ya behave yourself,” he joked.

“I guess you’ll be eating them alone then,” she shot back, grinning brightly as she jumped on the bike behind him. She leaned closer, offering her most devious whispered tone in his ear. “Because I plan to be all kinds of trouble.”

“Heaven help us all!” Harley gasped dramatically. “The little hellcat’s on a rampage!”

Amiel grinned, holding him closer. “Darn right. Watch out, or I just might take a bite out of you.”

“I just might let ya.”

Her eyes flew wide, but the bike jerked forward, streaming down the road before she had a chance to think of a reply.

The next two hours were filled with Rabid attacks and triumphs on Harley and Amiel’s end. Amiel still didn’t remember her fights, but she felt a flush of excitement after she surfaced from each one. Harley grinned and joked with her between fights, and she often caught him staring at her with looks so intense they melted her from the inside out. She hated that he’d been beaten so badly at Foundation, yet she couldn’t help but feel a small amount of gratitude for it being the catalyst of change.

For so long, she had felt like they were in a limbo, frozen on opposite sides of a canyon. But since the moment he’d discovered her as the center of his dark storm, it was like something had unlocked within him. Suddenly, she felt a foreign hope, a dream she’d never truly allowed herself to consider. A dream that Harley was just as lost in her as she was in him. And maybe, just maybe, now that those walls seemed to be torn down, she’d have a chance at winning
all
of him.

Harley nudged her shoulder with his elbow, pointing to a light pole down the street.

“Race ya to the pole. Beat me there and I give ya the mint,” he challenged. Amiel met his mischievous grin with one of her own, bent low at the waist and stretched out her legs to prepare for the run.

“Ready. Set. G—” She never got a chance to finish. Harley put a palm to her forehead, holding her back as he gave himself a head start. “Hey!” She shouted after him, enjoying the sound of his laugh as he ran for his life.

Eyes narrowing, Amiel shot off after him. She pushed her muscles, willing them to propel her faster. They warmed, burning with the exertion, and still she pushed harder. The tags suddenly warmed at her chest with a friendly tingle, a burst of cool energy rushing over her mind. Somehow, as impossible as it felt, she knew the tags were lending help to her efforts. She grinned as her speed quickened, her legs propelling her past a surprised Harley. His eyes lit with an inner dark spark that did funny things to her stomach. She nearly ran face first into the pole, she was so locked into that gaze.

Putting out a hand, she grabbed the pole and used her momentum to spin back around and go flying into Harley. The collision knocked him over on his back, and she quickly rolled off, doing a victory dance.

“Booyah! Take that, cheater! Uh uh, ohhh yeah!” She danced around him, waving her arms around and whooping like a complete idiot, totally high on that burst of energy from her tags and the knowledge that somehow she’d managed to use them without Rabids nearby. Harley lay on the ground, that dark spark still in his eyes as he chuckled. She held out her fingers, demanding her prize. He climbed to his feet, tossing her the mint at the same time his foot shot out in an effort to trip her. She easily danced out of the way with a giggle. 

“Cheater cheater, minty eater,” she sang. Harley shook his head.

“You’re a goof.”

Amiel grinned as she leaned in to bump his arm with her shoulder, popping the Yorkshire mint into her mouth.

“And you aren’t so tough.”

He frowned. “What happened to being the Man of Steel?”

“He’s still around,” she conceded with a mischievous grin. “But he’s no match for the
Woman
of Steel.”

“Whatever. I could crush ya into the ground if I really wanted to, shrimp.” He mussed her hair.  Her eyes narrowed playfully as she popped up and tried to return the favor.

“I kicked butt tonight!”

He easily shoved her to the side, keeping her at a distance with one outstretched arm. He didn’t have to say a word; the arrogant crook to his lips said it all. “
Maybe, but you can’t kick mine.”
Growling playfully in answer to that silent challenge, Amiel leapt, wrapping herself around his extended arm.

The sudden shift in weight caused Harley to stumble off balance. He grumbled as they tipped over, but, ever the gentleman, he rolled with the momentum of the fall so that she landed on top of him rather than vice versa. She took advantage of the momentary upper hand, shifting in an effort to trap him in a headlock. Harley growled, easily slipping from her grip and tossing her over his head. She rolled with it, managing to only gain a marginal bruise or two on her back, which was preferable to road rash and a flat nose.

“Chicken arms,” Harley accused.

“My arms are perfectly fine, thank you very much. Your head is just greasy,” she teased back.

“Bak bak,” he quipped with a crooked grin, flopping his elbows like chicken wings.  Amiel rolled her eyes and walked by him, pretending disinterest. Then, eyes lighting with devious intent, she spun and leapt on his back, arms once again closing around his neck. Harley chuckled, clearly humoring her in her efforts of sneak attack. Suddenly he flopped over on his back, knocking the air out of her but making an obvious effort to keep her from the majority of the pain he could have inflicted if he chose. That was her “rough around the edges knight in not-so-shiny armor”. Her lips lifted upward as he chuckled again.

“I’m suddenly hungry for fried chicken.” An exaggerated sniff to her arm followed, along with a playful nip at the leather sleeve. She tightened her chokehold with a jerk. But her efforts ended in frustration when he easily spun about in her grip, cocky smirk letting her know she hadn’t fazed him in the slightest.

“Maybe roadkill chicken?” he amended. Amiel “oomphed” as his full weight descended on her, effectively smooshing her.

“Not fair, fatty,” Amiel groaned, loosening her grip on his neck in surrender. His lips lifted in triumph, the dark spark back in his eyes. Amiel paused, drinking in the warmth issuing from that spark.

The air between them shifted in that increasingly familiar way. Familiar perhaps, but terrifying too. She had no idea what it was, where it came from or what triggered it. She only knew that, somehow, it felt as though her insides were rising in an effort to mesh with his. It was disconcerting and exhilarating at once. Harley sensed it too, she could tell. His face sobered slightly as he lowered to his elbows, bringing his body flush with hers. His golden tresses tickled her forehead, so temptingly accessible in her current failed headlock position.

Her arms loosened around his neck, one hand finding its way into his hair. She wished she didn’t have her gloves on, so that she could steal a quick feel of its silky smooth texture. The arctic depths in his gaze cut toward her lips, and she swore she could feel his heart thundering against her chest. Suddenly a different sensation echoed in her chest, pain yanking her from the moment. Her face tightened with the internal battle.

“Harley,” she gasped in warning. There was no need to warn him; he was instantly on guard. He had become increasingly in tune with her instinctual reactions during their hunting forays. She wouldn’t be surprised if he had felt the approach of the infected as instantly as she had. In unison, their eyes turned toward the mouth of the road, landing on the solid form of something huge, hulking and ravenous. A strange sort of wheezy grunt issued from the creature.

“Harley…
what
is that?”

“That,” he said, pausing as the new foe stepped into the streetlight, “that is
ugly
.” As though incensed by the insult, the thing released an angry, snuffling snort. “
Real
ugly,” Harley emphasized.

Even through the haze of impending blackness, Amiel had to agree. It had obviously been a man at one point, nearly eight feet in height. As a result of the rapid healing abilities, most Rabids had a healthier look to them than they did as Cleans. It was impossible to believe this thing had ever been good-looking, however, even when it had still been human. Now, oddly enough, infection merely lent insult to injury. Patches of hair clung to its scalp in haphazard lengths and angles. Its teeth were blackened and snaggled, easily visible by the gaping hole of missing lips. The entire right side of its face and neck were bubbled from savage burns and scar tissue.

“Why does it look like that?” Amiel didn’t have a chance to hear the answer, because the creature took one step closer, a step that brought the tags roaring to life. Her eyes desperately sought out Harley’s as she fought to breathe, and he nodded grimly. Sliding to his feet, he grabbed her helmet from where she’d slipped the strap through her belt, and pressed the strap into her hand.

“Go on, then, girl, do your thing. I’ll stand point.” As though waiting for Harley’s go-ahead, the darkness within burst out, engulfing and dragging her under.