Instinct Ascending: Rabids Book 2

by Amy Cook

  Instinct Ascending

  Rabids Book 2

  By Amy Cook

  Text copyright © 2015 Amy Cook

  All Rights Reserved

  Book cover design by BespokeBookCovers.com

  Edits by Sam Primeau

  This book is a work of fiction dredged from the recesses of one woman’s mind. All characters, events and portrayals are mere reflections of her imagination and not meant to stir mass hysteria or delusions of zombified glory. Should a zombie apocalypse of a similar nature actually occur, she takes no credit for the creations of her writing coming to life and/or eating you.

  Dedications and Thanks

  To my husband and children — Thank you for all of your support, patience, and love. You are my heart and soul, grounding me and lifting me at the same time. You are my everything, every day, forever and always.

  To my parents — Thank you for being some of my biggest fans. You have supported me from day one, back when I was fourteen years old and writing my first manuscript. Thank you for always backing me, editing and reading my work. (Even sticking it out through the mushy parts, Dad. :) )

  To my sister-in-law, Ashley — You have been with me every step, girl. You inspire me to keep writing, even when my characters are fighting in my head like WW3. Thank you for not thinking I’m crazy in those moments. ;) Thank you for being my sounding board, for always being eager to read and sometimes reread my work.

  To my editor, Sam — You came to my rescue! Thank you so much for the hard work you put into Instinct Ascending! You were so fun to work with, knowledgable and detailed in your critiques, and I really enjoy our random chats.

  To my cover artist, Peter — As always, Peter, your work is amazing! Thank you so much for my beautiful covers. You rock!

  And finally, thank you to my readers! Thank you for coming along on this journey with me. Without you, I wouldn’t be able to fulfill my dreams. And, as always, I hope you enjoy my books, and that my characters’ struggles and sorrows will draw you in, and their triumphs become your own.

  Table of Contents

  Instinct Ascending

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Epilogue

  End of Book 2

  Chapter 1

  Malinda

  “Have you made any progress with our little situation?”

  “Uh, no. Not yet, ma’am.”

  “And why not?”

  “He’s not talking.”

  “Then loosen his tongue.”

  “Short of killing him, we’ve tried every avenue, ma’am.”

  “He’s given you nothing useful after all this time?”

  “He’s sent us on several false hunts the last few weeks. I’m confident that all he knows is what she told him: that she was going to stay with a friend for a few days and wanted to borrow one of his cheap knockoff cell phones as some sort of rebellion. Aside from that, the sick shit just takes pleasure in sending us on dead-end trails.”

  “Language, Geno,” Malinda censured in her deadly calm way. Geno swallowed nervously, and then nodded.

  “My apologies, ma’am.”

  Malinda sighed in vexation, rubbing her temples as though they pained her.

  “Are you certain you can gain no further pertinent information from him?”

  “I’ve done this a long time, ma’am. I know how to get my answers if there are any to be given. If he knew where your daughter was, he would have told us by now.” A malicious gleam took residence in his dull eyes.

  “Perhaps.” She eyed him shrewdly. “You wouldn’t just be telling me that he is useless because you have a vendetta against the man and want him dead, would you, Geno?”

  Geno’s jaw clenched. “I wouldn’t jeopardize the search for your daughter just because the guy is a self-righteous… uh, jerk. Ma’am.”

  Malinda watched him for a moment before nodding. She didn’t believe he would. Geno had garnered an unhealthy sort of fascination for the girl over the years. He enjoyed making those weaker than him cower. It gave his little ego a boost.

  There was something so gratifying in crushing the hopes of those below you. It was probably why Malinda kept the man around; their purposes always seemed to mesh quite well. His thirst for domination had always served Malinda’s purposes in the past, and this case was turning out no differently. The man’s eagerness to find her daughter stemmed more from a hurt sense of pride than from any real desire to have the girl herself.

  Malinda had been furious upon returning to find her daughter gone missing. She had taken a fair amount of that out on all the staff, Geno included. Granted, the man had been with her on her outing and couldn’t have stopped the mess from occurring. It still didn’t save him from her wrath. Nor did it save the insipid man currently being held in her basement. As though reading her mind, Geno piped up again.

  “Would you like me to conclude our business with him?”

  “No. I want an example made of him. Toss him outside of the gates at nightfall.”

  Mild disappointment flickered across his gaze before he nodded and backed away from the desk. “As you wish, ma’am.”

  “I want her found, Geno. I do not appreciate being made to wait.”

  Geno swallowed heavily, nervous agitation making his tongue dart out to wet already moist lips. “I understand.”

  Malinda glared at the door as it clicked shut behind the retreating form of her hired thug of a bodyguard. Her frown deepened, marring her pristine features. Such a disappointment this whole mess was turning into. Jeller had been a marvelous butler. The household had been run impeccably smoothly, with everyone smartly in their place, while Jeller was in charge of matters. And his body… Malinda sighed distractedly, fanning herself. Were she a lesser woman, Malinda would have had that man in her bed day in and day out, until she tired of him.

  She had been furious when two of the maids reported to her that they’d seen Jeller in a secret rendezvous with her impetuous daughter. She’d given explicit direction to the both of them that neither of them were to further interact, especially while she was away. Malinda may have been above bedding the man herself, but s
he selfishly rejected the idea of him sleeping with another woman. While he worked for her, she owned him: every single aspect of him. The idea that “the other woman” could quite possibly be her own daughter had sent Malinda into a most ugly temperament. Upon returning home to find that Amiel had completely disappeared, her anger had swiftly swung into outright rage. She’d immediately turned Jeller over to Geno to find the depth of the matter.

  The answers, however, had been anything but satisfying. They’d learned the wretch had been running a black market ring — within her own home, no less. They’d learned that his real name wasn’t even Jeller, but Christian Atley, a renowned swindler and black market scum. They’d learned everything from the name of every whore he’d ever been with, right down to the most indecent intimate details of his anatomy. But they hadn’t learned a cursed thing about Amiel’s whereabouts.

  Malinda stood and strode to the back of her office, hands shaking with fury as she unlatched a small glass box. Reaching within, she offered only the slightest flinch as her hand was rewarded with scratches and bites. Finally capturing one of the annoying balls of fluff, she pulled it out and secured the clasp on the box once more. Sneering at the little white mouse within her grasp, Malinda ran over each disappointment she’d faced in the last several months. Each and every one of them led directly back to her youngest brat. Why couldn’t her offspring have turned out the slightest bit normal? Why did they all have to be such horrid creatures?

  Her grip on the mouse began to tighten, earning more bites and squeaks of protest from the rodent. She barely registered them. Warwick was to blame for this, all of it. His children followed in his footsteps, embarrassing Malinda and dragging her hard-earned reputation through the mud, repeatedly. She hated them all for it.

  Warwick’s idiocy was the root of it, and from there it only branched off into so many other disappointments. Malinda scoffed, thinking of Jaron with his insipid notions of honor and duty. He could have married well, brought money and true honor to the family. Sure, the girl he would have wed was a philandering twit, but what did that matter in the end? Security and power is what mattered, and a marriage with the girl could have brought more of that, adding it to what Malinda already garnered. Instead, the boy got himself killed and sent the one semi-obedient link in their family spiraling out of Malinda’s control. Malinda had no doubt that Amiel’s disappearance was one made of rebellion, rather than evil deeds. No one would dare to cross her, aside from her own offspring.

  Well, she was through playing the fool. Amiel would be dealt with harshly for what she had done, though Malinda hadn’t yet decided on a solid plan of that particular torture to come. She had to find the deplorable little fool first. The mouse gave one final, strangled squeak before its delicate body broke, yielding to the death grip of its grim reaper. A disturbing rush of satisfaction surged through Malinda, drawing forth a gasp of release as she held the mangled fur ball in her palm. When she found Amiel, Malinda would find twice the amount of pleasure in breaking her.

  Footsteps echoing in the hallway drifted to her ears, signaling the approach of her guards. A stale grin stretched her lips as she discarded the mangled body of the mouse in a nearby pop-top trash bin. The maids cleaned that trash out daily, and for good reason. It filled rather quickly. Grabbing a cloth from one of the drawers on the way out of her office, Malinda cleaned her hands of the bits of gore and her own wounds, watching the approach of the men down the hall.

  One would think that the sight of the brutally beaten body of her once highest-favored employee would give her a pause of pain or regret. It did nothing but please her. Malinda was not one to lightly suffer betrayal, especially from those she considered amongst her more intimate circles. She had trusted him with the care of her home, her sanctuary. This man had resided within that sanctuary and held her ardent lust, secret though it may have been.

  She had run extensive background checks on the man before hiring him, and he had somehow managed to dupe them all. He had deceived her, tricked her; he had betrayed her. And now he would die for his choices. She watched with some interest as the split and bleeding lips of the man twisted upward in a grin. Despite the damage done to his body, he somehow managed to retain his pull on her inner yearnings — a fact that only further fueled her hatred of him.

  “What, no balloons? No cake? How else are we to celebrate a proper beheading?” he quipped, words whistling through his broken teeth.

  “A beheading would be too good for you,” Malinda crooned, running a finger down the side of his jaw. His severely swollen eyes followed her hand, and his grin grew.

  “I see you’re still crushing lives; no life too small or… furry to escape the wrath of Malinda Hilden.” His sarcasm wiped the smirk from her face, leaving behind a mask of cold indifference. Inside, she was molten with hatred. The mice were a dirty little secret of hers. Each of her staff had been forced to sign multiple nondisclosures to safeguard her many secrets. They were never to speak of it: not to Malinda or her children, not to one another and certainly never to anyone outside of the household. To hear him so blatantly speaking of it nearly had her dragging the man back downstairs for another round of torture. Instead she brightened her frigid grin, tweaking his broken nose until his knees gave out. Leaning in close to his ear, she whispered so that only he might hear: “No life too small. Not even yours.”

  He grunted as she gave his nose another tweak and leaned back.

  “I do not for a moment believe that you know nothing of Amiel’s whereabouts, Christian,” she sneered, saying his true name with such vehemence it could have poisoned an elephant. The man had the tenacity to chuckle. Ever so slowly, she dragged her nails down his face, silencing his mirth with fresh gashes over the other multiple wounds already there.

  “Take your secrets to your grave. Just know this. When I find my daughter, and I will find her, she will suffer double the amount you have suffered.”

  His lips remained quirked, but his body betrayed him, stiffening under Malinda’s threat. Pleased with herself, Malinda pulled away, chilled grin stretching her features.

  “Well, then, it’s time to send you off to your final destination.”

  “And where exactly is this all-expenses-paid vacation of mine going to take me?” the man asked tightly, though that cursed grin always remained intact. She was going to miss that, and she hated that she would.

  “To the Outer Gates, of course."

  His eyes hardened. Her lips pursed in a mock pout. “Oh, dear. You won’t be able to enjoy your vacation overly much, will you? I’m afraid you are quite broken.” Leaning closer once more, she let the full malevolence of her eyes shine through. “And you do know what Rabids do to the broken ones, don’t you?” Gracing him with one final grin of triumph, she motioned the thugs out the door, watching with glee as they dragged their victim out and tossed him into the trunk of the car.

  She thought back to the mangled body of the mouse, the way its bones had felt as they snapped like dried twigs in her grip. All who betrayed her suffered. Jeller suffered now. Amiel would suffer soon, and no less than he; whether it was simply in spirit, or in body as well, was yet to be seen. The girl would serve her purposes in one way or another, Malinda was determined of it.

  Chapter 2

  Amiel

  Amiel’s eyes popped open; she felt as though someone had just walked over her grave. Shuddering, she wiped at the tears that were still fresh on her cheeks. Again with the dreams and tears! They had been haunting her sleep for weeks now, leaving her gut twisted and body exhausted when day came.

  Sensing something odd, Amiel sat up, kicking the covers back from her legs. Her nights were getting weirder and weirder. As if the nightmares weren’t enough, now she was often waking to find that the cuffs of her pant legs were dirty, or different from the pajamas she would have sworn she’d put on for bed. In today’s case, her pants were wet. Wet was new. If the wetness hadn’t been in this particular placement, she would have feared she’d peed
herself in the midst of her horrid dream. As it was, it was a bit too talented, even for Amiel’s particular brand of weirdness, to be able to pee on only the cuffs of her pant legs.

  Groaning in frustration, she flopped back on the bed and tossed an arm over her eyes, releasing a burdened sigh. What was wrong with her? The alarm on the bedside table trilled out a warning, pulling her back from under the covers. No rest for the wicked, nor the crazy, apparently.

  Climbing out of bed, Amiel headed for the bathroom. She looked in the mirror, taking in the darkened circles beneath her eyes, as well as the matted rat’s nest atop her head. Lovely. And yet she was so tired, she nearly left it alone: who cared if she went to work looking like the crazy woman she was? Frowning, Amiel grabbed a brush and began the arduous task of raking it through her hair. Okay, maybe she still cared, a little.

  A huge yawn made her eyes water and her jaw pop. These sleepless nights were really starting to catch up to her. The brush snagged on a particularly tough snarl, earning a brusque, half-hearted nonsense curse. Tossing the brush on the counter, she dug her fingers into the mess and tried to pick it apart by hand.

  “Oh, my heckadiddley… is that a…?” It was. A branch, a real-deal, certified tree branch was gnarled up in her hair. “How the funkadoodle does that happen? I mean, really. A tree branch, of all things?” She growled angrily at the innocent looking branch, tossing it in the trash. Grabbing the brush back up, she went to work again. “Weirder and weirder,” she grumbled with less vehemence, and more concern.

  Life was getting all kinds of screwed-up, and she was beginning to question her sanity. Her mind drifted back to that conversation months ago with Harley: the one where he had revealed so much of himself and the life he lived. The conversation where she had found out that a good portion of the Hybrids went mental and had to be “put down”. Was that what was going on with her?

  True, she wasn’t a real-deal Hybrid, but she certainly had a lot of their characteristics, thanks to the dog tags hanging around her neck. What if becoming a whole lot of crazy was part of that little package deal she’d inherited? Would Harley have to put her down, too? Her hands shook as she set the brush down and grasped the counter top, head hanging low.