Instinct Ascending: Rabids Book 2

by Amy Cook

  A draft suddenly skittered along her arm, and she shivered, goose bumps following the path of the air. If she hadn’t known better, she would have guessed that he’d blown across her skin. Yet somehow she knew she was simply tapping into her skin’s hypersensitivity, detecting the passing of his body as he walked by.

  “Did ya feel the draft?” he asked, just to the left of her ear, before moving away once more. She nodded mutely. His voice shifted to a light-hearted tone. “Good. You’re a natural at this. You’ll be ready for the dark before ya know it.”

  She chuckled self-deprecatingly. “I don’t know about that… ooh!” She squeaked as he came seemingly out of nowhere and lightly pinched her side. “What was that for?” It hadn’t hurt. It’d just stirred up her ridiculous damsel crush that she had finally started calming down two minutes ago.

  “You lost focus. I changed the tone of my voice, the topic headin’ to a lighter avenue. Your mind followed it, as did your self-doubt. It clouded your senses. Ya need to stay focused, sure — always. If ya did, you woulda felt me comin’.”

  “I think you’re overestimating my mind’s capability to multitask,” she joked, freezing as the warmth of his body suddenly appeared at her back again.

  “I think you’re underestimatin’ it,” he replied drolly, fingers deftly untying the knot in the shirt. The fabric fell away from her eyes and she blinked away the blurriness that followed. He walked away, slipping the t-shirt over his head, the fabric settling snugly across his shoulders. He glanced back at her for a moment, brow creasing.

  “Better head home, kid. Look like you’re about to fall asleep standin’ up.”

  She blinked. “What, already? I just got here.” She glanced at her watch and realized he was right. The lesson had already gone half an hour over what it usually did. Her face scrunched in disappointment. She had been rather enjoying tonight’s lesson. “How did time go by so fast?”

  He shrugged. “You were late, remember?”

  “Okay, I get it. No more being late.”

  He grinned and headed back to the office. Stopping inside the doorway, he looked back at her.

  “And, kid? I’ll keep the lights on for ya, from now on.” With that, he disappeared inside.

  Chapter 6

  Amiel

  She was late yesterday. Today she was determined to rectify that, and came early. She wanted Harley to know she was reliable. Not only that, but she’d gotten great news today, and she’d come straight over after work, too excited to wait any longer to share it.

  Music upstairs met her ears from outside the door, and she took a moment to enjoy the fact. She’d never heard him listening to music before, and she was excited to get a glimpse of his style. Slipping the key into the lock, she turned it quietly and pushed the door open, poking her head in. Frowning in frustration that she couldn’t hear it, she pushed the bike inside the entry and shut the door behind her, closing off the street sounds.

  Her brow rose when she realized what the music was: it was Celtic! She hadn’t seen that one coming. A thought struck her then, and with a mischievous grin stretching her lips, she quietly turned to lock the door. If he had music playing, maybe she stood a chance of sneaking up on him for once. She had been quiet enough coming in, maybe she could pull it off. Slinking up the stairs with what she liked to pretend was a panther-like grace, Amiel poked her head around the stairwell edge, taking surveillance. Her eyes widened as they fell on his bare back, skin glistening in the light from above.

  He’d obviously just gotten out of the shower, water still running in thin rivulets down his back from his hair. Those golden, shaggy locks were a darker shade from the moisture, gleaming a burnished gold. A pair of his usual gym shorts hung low on his hips, and his feet were bare.

  He suddenly froze, and Amiel froze too, afraid she’d been caught. Grabbing the towel on the table in front of him, Harley began scrubbing the moisture from his hair, and she breathed a silent sigh of relief. Her eyes, however, grew quickly distracted from her devious plot, following the movement of the muscles beneath his skin, the lines and muscled dimples deepening in his back as he moved. Her mouth went dry.

  Mentally slapping herself, Amiel refocused on the matter at hand: sneaking up on Harley the way he’d snuck up on her countless times. He tossed the towel on the table and leaned over it, picking something up. Her eyes zeroed in on what he was doing, and she grinned when she realized he was cleaning his guns and knives. Maybe it would serve as a greater distraction to him. Score one for Amiel! Coming early was a great idea; she’d have to try it more often. Shifting, she stealthily started across the room.

  “You’re early.”

  She wasn’t even two steps out of the stairwell. “Ughh! Not fair! What gave me away this time?” she whined, as she shlumped the rest of the way over.

  “Your smell.”

  “Oh. I forgot about that.” Amiel frowned. She could see the side of his cocky grin as he continued scrubbing down one of the guns. She drew in a deep breath. “What is that smell?”

  “Gun oil and cleaning solvent.”

  “Mmmm. I like it.”

  He turned to look at her, brow high in surprise.

  “What? It smells good.” She drew a deep breath, filling her lungs to the brim with the smell. “It would smell great on leather. They should make it into cologne or something.”

  Shaking his head, Harley turned back to his task, cocky grin shifting into a more comical one. “You ain’t like most girls, are ya, kid?”

  “I sure hope not,” Amiel muttered. Harley chuckled, his shoulders moving with the action. Like magic, her eyes were drawn back to the ink that seemingly slithered across his back and shoulders, enjoying the way it moved with his muscles just a little too much. She bit her lip, hand half raised, before swallowing her nerves and going for it. His shoulders bunched beneath her touch as cool fingers met the still-damp heat of his skin, the sound of the cleaning brush going silent. He didn’t recoil from her touch, he simply froze. She took that as a good sign.

  “So.” She swallowed. “The tattoos? What do they mean?” If possible, the muscles beneath her fingertips tightened even further. It was like touching a granite statue. “I mean, I know what the wolf signifies, I think. We’ve kind of talked about it. The mark that all the Hybrids have, like a trademark or something.” She shifted to the side, fingertips cautiously rising to trace the wolf. Her eyes rose to take in his reaction. He flinched, jaw clenching, but still didn’t move away or rush to put on his shirt. There was no aggression in his stance, only cautious tension.

  “Somethin’ like that.” He grunted. “Foundation’s way of recognizin’ us, ownin’ us. A constant reminder to us, of the contract we signed.” He shrugged. “That and it warns the general public to stay away. ‘Don’t get too close to the rabid animal, it might bite.’ ”

  “Stupid,” she grumbled.

  He shrugged again. “It is what it is.”

  “Do you hate it? The tattoo?”

  He stood still for a long moment, and she wondered if she had overstepped the lines of sharing. Finally he shook his head, turning just enough to meet her eyes. The glacial depths were solemn, determined.

  “No. There’ve been times I wished it wasn’t there. But in the end, it is what it is. It’s just a physical manifestation of a choice I made and the reasons I made it. It wasn’t an easy decision; it’s not an easy life. But not everyone can do what I can, and I have a responsibility, a duty to carry the burden. Despite the dark depths behind the ink, I can find some pride in it as well.” He shrugged, falling silent as though unsure he’d explained what he felt well enough.

  “I can understand that.” She smiled softly up at him, and their gazes held for a long moment. He gave one solid nod before looking away, the sound of brush against gun metal meeting her ears once more. She was still getting a read on this emotion-sharing thing in their bond; she could tell the subject of the wolf was a sensitive subject, though he seemed oddly open to the idea of
discussing it with her. She imagined that had to do with the bond they had forged when she helped him through his Collapse, and later in the warehouse. His Hybrid trusted her, Harley trusted her; they just both had a hard time knowing what to do with that trust sometimes.

  Her attention shifted to the dragon. Swallowing those nerves again, she slid her fingertips across his shoulder. Muscles bunched as her skin made contact with the dragon. The brush faltered for a second before continuing its steady pace, and following that cue, she allowed her fingers to smooth over the design, tracing its sensuous length.

  “Does everyone have the dragon, too?”

  He shook his head silently.

  “It’s beautiful,” she whispered.

  “Thanks.” He cleared his throat.

  “Whoever did this artwork is amazing. The details and colors are astounding! I could almost believe they would rise from your skin at any moment.” Her heart leapt slightly as she felt the muscles beneath the bronzed skin relax slightly. Progress!

  “L.”

  “Huh?”

  “His name is L. He’s the one that handles the ink, down on Lime Street.”

  “Oh. Well, he’s incredibly talented. I love it.”

  His head ducked slightly as her fingers moved along the curves again. Amiel fought down the inner fangirl that screamed in glee as he let her fingers explore. She was enjoying this far too much. “It looks like the dragon wants to devour the wolf,” she teased.

  “The dragon is my way of sayin’ they may own my services, for now, but they’ll never own me; that there’s more to me than just the tamed Rabid.”

  “You’re the dragon behind the wolf,” she murmured.

  He turned around then, eyes rising to meet hers with such fiery intensity that Amiel couldn’t help but grin with a sense of pride. The image of a dragon fit his reasoning so perfectly, fit him so perfectly. She could see its fiery purpose in Harley’s eyes, in his Hybrid, his soul.

  “I love that.” The mental words somehow came out of her mouth, and she quickly slammed her teeth shut. Heat rose to her cheeks. That was the second time she’d said “love” in the last minute, and she’d sounded like a breathless dweeb when she said it, too. He was going to start seeing that inner fangirl if she didn’t stop it.

  “I mean, I think it’s intense, and so perfectly fitting. You are loyal and hard-working, but you are never owned by them. You do what you do to help, to protect those you care about. And even the people you don’t know.” She shrugged, annoyed with her babbling. “I just… the symbolism of it all is almost poetic.”

  “Poetic,” Harley grunted, though a small smile fought the corners of his lips. “Don’t let Caj hear ya say that. I’ll never hear the end of it.”

  She smiled as he began wiping down the slide of the gun with a rag. Tentatively reaching out, she grasped his wrist. He paused, assessing her intent. She offered a timid but curious grin, too shy to ask. Sighing, he placed the slide and rag back on the table, offering his wrists for full viewing. The grin fighting the corners of his lips was still in place, however, letting her know he wasn’t really annoyed with her prying. Her fingers slid across the intricately knotted ink that slipped about the cuffs of his wrists.

  “And these?”

  “My granddad emigrated here from Ireland when he was twenty. He spent the rest of his life in Texas; my pop was born and raised there. But my granddad still held onto his Irish roots, was very proud of ’em. He passed that pride on to my pops, and through my pops to me.”

  “That would explain the music,” she pointed out, feeling triumphant at having unlocked yet another of his secrets. A faint blush stole across his cheeks, as though he’d forgotten she could hear the music too.

  “Uh, yeah. Gotta admit I’ve got a soft spot for it.” His fingers brushed hers as he pointed out areas in the design, drawing her attention from the subject of music.

  “My family names are inscribed in a few places throughout the knots, if ya look close enough. The knots symbolize the eternal value of life. We can’t see the beginnin’ or the endin’. Everythin’ in life is intertwined; there is no such thing as coincidence, only destiny.”

  “No such thing as coincidence,” Amiel replied with a reminiscent smile, remembering the times Tandy had told her the same thing. Harley nodded.

  “We all got a part to play in life. The things we do affect those around us, for good or bad. We may not be able to see the effect we have on ’em, but down the line its effect is still there. We’re all connected, and we all got a responsibility to one another.” He shrugged. “Somethin’ like that,” he finished gruffly. The grin lit her eyes.

  “I like it.” She bit her lip, palm moving to lay flat over the koi fish on his left pec. “Last one?” she asked tentatively. He gave a stiff nod, looking away. “This one is special?” she guessed, sensing the shift in his demeanor.

  “For my mama. Koi fish were her favorites.” His voice was rough, broken, and immediately Amiel broke with it. After everything his mother had done to him, after all the pain she’d inflicted on his soul, Harley had still loved her. So much so that he honored her with a tattoo of her favorite fish, over his heart. Her heart filled and ached at the same time. Without another moment’s thought, she stood on her tiptoes and placed a kiss on his cheek.

  “You’re a good man, Harley.” Their eyes met and held. The blue depths of his gaze held such raw emotion, it stole her breath. The intensity of the connection in that moment was both amazing and intimidating. The atmosphere shifted, growing heavy and thick. She felt the Hybrid shift in his eyes, rising to the surface to get closer. In answer, she felt a shifting in her own mind. Her lips parted on a silent gasp, the sensation as disconcerting as it was provocative. Blinking, she pulled away from the gaze, the moment too intense and overwhelming. Forcing a bright grin, Amiel grabbed his hand and sniffed it. Giggling at his shocked expression, she grabbed up the brush he’d discarded.

  “Teach me how to do this? I want to smell like that.”

  His brows scrunched and he shook his head. “One of a kind, kid, one of a kind.”

  Her grin grew more honest. “Yep! That’s me.”

  “Wait a minute.” He paused, eyeing her sternly. “You’re tellin’ me ya don’t know how to do this? You’ve had that gun, used it this whole time, and you ain’t never cleaned it once?”

  Her grin shifted again, turning apologetic. He reached over, grabbing the gun from the holster in the back of her waistband, and began swiftly disassembling it, completely unaware of the startled blush he’d left behind on her cheeks. He tsked as he looked at the weapon in his hands.

  “Derned shame to leave such a pretty gun in such a dirty mess.”

  “Pretty?”

  “Guns are like cars and bikes, kid. They’re allowed to be pretty,” Harley replied gruffly, laying out the pieces. He set about showing her the ins and outs of gun cleaning, the dos, don’ts and you shoulda's. Amiel listened attentively, enjoying the thorough and intense way Harley explained the details. This was a part of his life he knew like the back of his hand. When he glanced up, finding her watching him instead of the process, his hand shot out, playfully swatting her thigh.

  “Pay attention.”

  Her hand instantly shot out, swatting him back, her own instincts firing off. She stared at him in surprise, hand stinging from the contact she’d made with the hard, muscled sinew of his thigh.

  “Challenge answered?”

  She shrugged innocently. They both burst out laughing, almost instantaneously. He dipped his finger in the cleaning solvent and dabbed it on her nose. “Now ya smell like it. Happy?”

  She grabbed the brush and swiped it across his jaw. “Yep! You?”

  He shoved her playfully on the shoulder and she stumbled a few steps away.

  “Knock it off — I just got all cleaned up.”

  “And you look so pertyful, too,” she teased, shoving him back. Harley shook his head, laughing at her weak attempts to push him while he wip
ed the solvent from his jaw with a clean rag.

  “Give it up, Thumbelina. I’m a mountain, you can’t move a… ah!” He squirmed away as her hand slipped on his ribs. Amiel stared at him, wide-eyed, a pregnant silence in the air before a devilish grin broke across her face.

  “You’re ticklish!”

  Harley frowned, turning to yank on his nearby t-shirt. When finished, he turned and pointed a finger at her.

  “Don’t go gettin’ any ideas, kid.”

  The mischief spread to her eyes as she turned back to the table.

  “I’ll remember that,” she promised, earning a grunt.

  “Unfortunately, I believe you will.” He gripped her chin, turning her face just enough to wipe the oily stuff off her nose. “Now, the lesson today is obviously gonna have to be on weapon care. Grab your knife out; we’ll clean and sharpen that, too. Heaven knows you probably ain’t taken care of that, neither.”

  Her heart felt full as he turned back to the table, finishing instructions on the proper care of her weapons. Being friends with Harley was so beyond amazing some days, she couldn’t believe her luck. A dark cloud inched its way into that happy, sunny moment. He was amazing, and if she was going to be worthy of his friendship, she had something to fix.

  “Um, so… I saw this place down a few streets from Jolleyways.”

  Harley grunted in reply.

  “And I was thinking I wanted to try it out. Want to try it with me?”

  He paused, glancing at her, then went back to cleaning. “Sure.”

  “Really?” she squeaked excitedly, before catching herself and forcing a bit of decorum. That was a lot easier than she had thought it would be. “I mean, good. Great.”

  “When?”

  “Tonight?”

  His brow rose.

  “I know that’s short notice, but I just got really great news. Stint finally hired someone, and I’m going back on night shift in two days. I’m so excited about it that it’s ridiculous.”

  Harley grinned softly. “Good. Maybe now you’ll get more sleep.”

  “I hope so!” She laughed. “I don’t think I could handle any more sleep deprivation. I’d be a total loon.”