by Amy Cook
“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.
Chapter 17
Amiel
Amiel woke slowly, her eyes itchy and brain groggy. Her body ached, yet she felt oddly relaxed. She snuggled deeper into the warm cocoon she found herself encased in, sighing. The intake of air brought in the welcoming scent of Harley, spice and leather. Cracking her eyes open once more, she found his jacket draped over her, layered with several blankets. She smiled, drinking in the warmth and comfort her current position offered. Her attention shifted to her feet, focusing on the warm tingle issuing from her slippers.
No, not slippers. As her mind continued to clear, it became obvious she wasn’t wearing slippers. Tipping her head up a fraction, she ignored the way the world tilted around her. Her feet were nestled in the lap of none other than Harley. He sat at the end of the couch, head tipped back against the cushions, lips parted slightly in his sleep. His hands carefully enfolded her feet, as though he had been rubbing them when sleep claimed him. Amiel blinked in wonder, eyes memorizing every detail.
Her heart made a nearly painful stretch, a physical replication of the feelings tied up inside her. Her dangerously beautiful knight in dented armor; he was taking care of her yet again, and she couldn’t fight the pull to fall even harder for him. She swallowed, heart picking up the pace as she continued to unabashedly stare. The lines of his face were smoothed out, relaxed and nearly ethereal in their countenance. This beautiful mountain of a man had the soul of a dragon and a heart of gold. She shook her head, grinning at the thought of what he would say had he heard her inner dialogue.
Harley suddenly stirred, eyes immediately landing on her. His face made it clear that he was chastising himself for falling asleep, checking on her as though worried she wouldn’t be there. His eyes widened when he realized she was awake… and staring at him.
“You’re finally awake and clear-eyed, I see.” He grinned tiredly. Her answering smile was soft and warm.
“I am awake, but I don’t know about clear-eyed. What happened?” Her mouth stretched wide in an embarrassing yawn.
“You Collapsed.” His face turned solemn, a storm brewing behind his gaze.
“Oh.” Memories of her conversation with Bryn came flooding back. She quickly looked away, gaze shifting to her feet simply to escape the facts he would see in her eyes. He tensed slightly, following her gaze.
“Sorry,” he apologized, clearing his throat. “It was the only way I could get ya to stay on the couch.”
Her cheeks burned. “I don’t mind,” she whispered, cheeks burning deeper when she realized what she’d said. The red tinge kicked up another notch when the meaning behind his words hit her. “Wait… what do you mean, it was the only way to keep me on the couch? Please don’t tell me I was wandering around.”
“Somethin’ like that,” he stated simply, with a crooked grin.
“Guess that’s a normal thing for Collapses?” At least, she hoped it was the Collapse, and not her other side looking for another Rabid slaughter. “I didn’t know I could Collapse.”
“It wasn’t the typical Collapse, but yeah, that’s what it looked like to me.”
Amiel frowned, wondering what she had done that wasn’t “typical”. She decided she might not want to know.
“What did I do, while I was out?”
“Ya ate a lot, and ya drank a lot,” Harley offered vaguely, not meeting her gaze.
“So, I was pretty normal? For a Collapse, I mean.”
Harley looked thoughtful for a moment, before offering a simple shrug.
“I ain’t exactly sure there’s anythin’ normal about Collapses, Thumbelina.” That statement wasn’t exactly comforting. She bit her lip, another horrifying thought coming to mind. Peeking under the covers revealed all of her articles of clothing were still in place, and she sighed in relief. Of course, her last memory involved being half-naked and half-dead on a roof top. So the fact that she was in a set of pajamas told her she had been naked at one point. She just didn’t know when, and if it was of her choice.
“These are different clothes than I was wearing. Right?”
Harley ran a hand through his hair, cheeks flushing. So not a good sign for her. “I… hope running around naked is not considered a usual part of Collapse?”
“Uh…” He scratched at the scruff on his jaw. “You weren’t runnin’ ’round naked, no.”
Amiel felt instant relief, grateful she hadn’t been running about in the nude. Harley cleared his throat, offering an apologetic grin.
“I guess the runnin’ ’round naked thing is kinda my thing?” He posed the question, though his eyes told her that he already suspected the answer to that. She grinned, laughing as his cheeks deepened to the deepest shade of sunset. Instantly she regretted it, wincing and clutching her side. Maybe she was healing, but she certainly wasn’t completely healed yet. In the blink of an eye, Harley was off the couch, crouching at her side. She held up a hand, a shaky grin in place as she clenched her eyes closed to keep the tears in check.
“I’m okay.”
“Kid?” His tone told her the time for joking was over. She forced her eyes open, forced herself to meet his gaze, though it was the last thing she wanted to do. It was time for sharing secrets, though she was afraid to let him see. The moment their eyes met, that tunneling sensation hit in full force, sucking her deeper into his soul. Somehow the connection had gotten stronger since she last remembered; she hadn’t known that was possible, either. Life was full of surprises these days. His brow drew down in concern.
“Kid, what happened to ya?”
She bit her lip against the sting of tears that threatened, against the burn in the back of her throat. His hand rose to her face, thumb gently wiping away a rogue tear. His voice was gentle, though it held a note of strain beneath.
“I’ve been sittin’ here, runnin’ through it all in my head, waitin’ for ya to wake up. I can’t figure it. How’d ya end up in this mess?”
“Because trouble follows me?” she whispered in defeat.
“Ain’t that the truth,” he agreed wryly. “Look: Charleen called the guards after she found your bike crushe
d under a bus. They filled us in on your late night escapade.”
Her heart stuttered. “My bike?”
His eyes were solemn, a shared understanding of how it felt to lose a bike exchanged in the flow of the current that she toed with shy glances.
“I’ll take a look at it later, but from what I saw, the bike’s wrecked.”
She sighed heavily, feeling its loss keenly. That bike had been her key to escape, the link to her freedom, the physical embodiment of dreams come true. And now it was crushed. Somehow she couldn’t help the sinking feeling that it was now the physical embodiment of the direction the rest of her life was heading.
“You and Tandy must be so upset with me.”
“Hardly. We’ve wrecked our fair share of bikes, kid; ’sides, Pops would be more concerned about other things, like I am. You’re more important than metal, Amiel. A bike’s just a tool; yeah, we’re attached to ’em, but life’s more important.”
“He doesn’t know yet?” she inquired hesitantly.
“Can’t get ahold of him. He’s probably on a Vast run.” He tipped his head to the side to catch her eye. “Here’s the thing, though. I talked to the guards while you were sleepin’ and they said this wasn’t a one-time thing. They said ya go wanderin’ ’round in the night a lot.”
Amiel bit her lip, staring at her hands in her lap.
“Is that true?”
She nodded.
“Care to explain that one to me?”
“You’ll think I am crazy. I probably am.”
“Crazier than ridin’ ’round in your pajamas?”
She blushed at how crazy he must already think she was for that simple fact alone. “Undoubtedly.” She grabbed at her wild hair that fell over a shoulder, twisting the strands nervously. “I need your help, Harley.”
“Name it,” Harley stated firmly, protective loyalty rising in his eyes with the Hybrid.
“I’ve been killing in my sleep,” she blurted out. Harley froze, leaning back slightly, shock clearly evident in his eyes.
“Run that by me again?”
Taking a deep breath, she steeled herself. There was no turning back now. “Where did you find me?”
He frowned at her seemingly disconnected question.
“On the top of an apartment building, bloodied, bruised and half-frozen. And call me the crazy one, but it sure seemed like the trip up was near impossible.” His muscles clenched, obviously not loving the memory.
“I don’t remember it very clearly, but I can tell you it certainly wasn’t fun.” She took a deep breath. “I ended up there because I’ve been sleepwalking. And when I sleepwalk, I hunt Rabids.” The words of her explanation shook as she spoke.
“Sleepwalking…,” he repeated uncertainly, as though wondering if he’d heard her correctly.
“For a long time, I’ve had trouble sleeping. I’d go to bed early, only to wake late the next day and still feel exhausted. At first I thought it was just the change in sleep schedules. But then clues kept popping up to suggest it was more than that. I would wake to find myself in clothes that were different than the ones I went to sleep in. Or they would be dirty or wet. I even found sticks in my hair.” She blushed, which was fairly stupid: considering the massive bomb she was tossing out there, finding twigs in her hair should be the last thing causing her to blush.
“Then things started moving around my apartment. Like the knives.” She glanced up at him, and his expression turned thoughtful.
“You really didn’t know they were up there, did ya?”
She shook her head, morose. “I didn’t.” She moved to sit up, wincing in pain as her ribs gave another twinge.
“Careful,” Harley warned, quickly bounding to his feet. “Ya nearly busted your ribs clear into your lungs doin’ your wall climbin’ acrobatics. Ya may Collapse like us, but that don’t mean you’re Superwoman. Take it slow.” Slipping one arm under her knees, and one at her back, he gently lifted her to a sitting position. She stared down at her hands as he tucked the blankets and jacket in around her, crouching at her side once more.
“So, what do you need me to do? Set up a new lock system on your door? I can do that.” He frowned in thought. “I’d have to set it up so there was a failsafe you’d be able to use to get outta there in an emergency. But if I told ya how to do that, would ya be able to do it in your sleep and still get out?”
She laid a hand on his shoulder, stopping him mid-invention ramble.
“I need you to take me on patrol.” Amiel could immediately see the shutters slamming down in his eyes.
“No way.”
“It’s the only way,” she corrected softly.
“How the Hell’s bells is that supposed to help anybody, kid?” Harley growled. “Gettin’ yourself killed off ain’t the best way to avoid sleepwalkin’.”
“You’d never let that happen.” She offered a playful grin in hopes of dousing the fire. It only fueled it.
“Damn it all, kid, I ain’t kept ya alive all this time just to toss ya to the wolves!” He didn’t even bother offering an apology for his language this time, that was how worked up he was. Swiftly popping to his feet, he paced away, standing with his back to her as he fought with himself over the lack of control she had seen in his eyes.
“I don’t think we have to worry about infection,” she offered timidly. His muscles bunched.
“There’s only so much I can do to keep ya from harm. I ain’t a good sitter and I sure ain’t a miracle worker.”
She couldn’t help it — her breath caught on the edge of hurt. Not that he didn’t have every right to feel that way: she had been nothing but a burden since coming here, and here she was asking him for more. Her feelings must have drifted to him, or perhaps he simply smelled the change in her, because immediately he turned toward her, face repentant.
“Dam— doggone it, Amiel,” he muttered, in control enough now to correct himself. Striding to her side, he gently grabbed one of her hands. “I didn’t mean it that way. I swear I didn’t. I don’t think of ya as just a job I’m stuck with. I just…” He sighed, face suddenly weary. “I ain’t doin’ such a bang up job keepin’ ya safe, kid. How am I supposed to keep ya safe when I toss ya in the midst of it?”
Amiel’s hand gravitated toward his face, her fingertips lightly touching the stubble on his jaw. His eyes snapped up to meet hers, the current rolling over her with his very real fears of not being able to protect her. The Hybrid loyalty and protection streak ran marrow-deep in her friend.
“There are some things you can never protect me against, Harley,” she whispered. “And you can’t protect me from myself.”
His brow drew down with the accompanying frown. “I can try.”
“If you want to try, then I need you to take me on patrol. It is the only thing that stands a chance of stopping this.”
“Why? How do ya know that?” he challenged.
“I told myself.”
His frown deepened and she shook her head in frustration. “This is going to sound crazy — I’m not even sure I can explain it thoroughly. But please, I need you to try to give it some thought.”
His gaze clung to hers, and she could feel a nearly physical probing in her mind. It was somewhat invasive, yet oddly enticing, having him poking around in there. Apparently finding just how determined she was that this was the only course of action, he set his jaw and nodded.
“While I was unconscious, I was in an odd sort of in-between state. I don’t know how else to describe it. Everything was foggy, my body was see-through, and it was just really weird. I could hear talking: you, Cajun, Charleen, Pell, and someone else.” She hesitated.
“That was the doctor — Pell’s friend. I couldn’t get ya into the hospital, and I didn’t know what else to do for ya. Pell called in his friend.”
“Oh,” she whispered, noting his despondent and frustrated air. “You tried to take me to the hospital?” Hybrids disliked hospitals because of the fact that they would be more than happ
y to dispose of a Hybrid rather than to treat one. Harley would have been taking a big chance, taking her to one, risking his life in an effort to secure hers.
“I tried. They didn’t want to look at ya just because I was holdin’ ya; said they didn’t take sympathizers,” he growled. “I convinced ’em that we’d just found ya on the street, that we didn’t know ya. She said they’d take ya but they’d strip all of your belongin’s and burn ’em because of contact with me: tags included. I couldn’t…”
His eyes lifted to hers, and she was immediately flooded with his feelings of inadequacy on this matter. Her hand drifted to the tags about her neck, tears prickling her eyes. She’d come so close to losing them again, and who knows what would have happened if the tags had been removed. Harley had made hard decisions for her while she slept; he’d been degraded by the hospital staff, taken a chance with his own life, saved her from death or possible insanity. She felt her heart stretching just a little more.
“Thank you,” she whispered, gratitude overflowing the words. Harley blinked and looked down.
“I was terrified I’d made the wrong choice. You were so cold and broken.”
“But you did make the right choice. It’s what I would have wanted you to do. I can’t lose Jaron’s tags.”
His eyes lifted at her assurance. He offered a small grin, though it held more self-doubt than assurance. He tugged lightly on a length of her hair.
“So, back to this ‘in between’. Ya heard us…” He left it in the air, leaving room for her to pick back up the story while distancing himself from the uncomfortable emotions of the previous conversation.
“Yes. I could hear you, but I couldn’t understand what you were saying. It was like I was unable to remember the meaning of words.” She shrugged, unsure how else to describe the experience. “Things got weirder when a girl stepped out of the fog and started talking to me. She was me, yet different. She said to call her Bryn, that she was my conscience of sorts.”
