by Amy Cook
“Thank you so much for understanding, Harley. You really are the best friend a girl could ask for.”
“Girls make no sense. Tell ’em you’re gonna toss ’em in the fire, and they get all mushy,” Harley teased, equally embarrassed and pleased by the praise.
“It is part and parcel of our ‘mystery and appeal’ package,” she teased back. Grabbing up the ends of her hair, she twisted them back and forth over her fingers in that nervous way of hers that he found oddly endearing.
“I’m not going to lie, either. It makes me more than nervous, Harley.” She bit her lip, meeting his eyes full-on. “It terrifies me.” Her large emerald eyes held his, and he could feel the currents of quivering nerves in the wake of its flow. It made him want to pull her into the sheltering depths of his arms and dare anything try to hurt her. She released a shaky breath.
“But it has to be done. I’ve been thinking about it a lot since I came here. I’ve never been as brave as my brother. But he entrusted me with these tags. I am sure he gave them to me to protect me. Yet… I also wonder sometimes if he didn’t hope I would carry on what he started with them.” Her gaze turned distant, staring across the empty gym at nothing in particular as she thought.
“Sometimes in life we are given beautifully dangerous gifts; it is left to us whether they destroy us or craft us into something amazing. This is my time to decide that fate, I think.” She blinked, shaking herself from her reverie, a timid grin surfacing with awareness.
“Anyways, enough of that.” A delicate hand flicked casually at the air, as though the dense atmosphere surrounding them now didn’t exist. “I have nothing to worry about, not with my knight in leather armor watching my back.”
Harley held up a finger. “Speakin’ of that, hold up a minute.” He sprinted from the room, returning with his latest invention: something he hoped might give her some hope in this endeavor. “This is for you.” He held up the large, black bag, and her face paled slightly.
“You… got me a body bag?”
His eyes flew wide at her uncertain question, a strangled laugh escaping his throat with a mangled sound.
“Good grief, Thumbelina! What kinda guy do ya think I am? I may suck at bein’ ’round girls, but even I know that’d be a hellish gift to give a woman!” A look of relief shifted across her face.
“You had me doubting your faith in my ability to stay alive, for a while there,” she teased, stepping closer to the bag. Her body was tense, expression wary as she eyed the bag. “There isn’t something in there that is going to jump out and scare the crapadoodle out of me, is there?”
“I’d rather ya keep your crapadoodle contained, thanks.”
She slapped his arm; he slapped hers; she punched him in the chest; he poked her backward with a finger to the forehead. She lifted another hand to assault him, and he lifted one of his own in warning.
“Hey, now. Start that and we’ll never find out what’s inside, ’cause I’ll have to teach ya some manners.”
“Manners.” She snorted. He offered her another playful glare, before gesturing toward the bag still held high in his hand.
“Well, ya gonna open it or just stare?”
Her tongue darted out in a rude gesture that made him anything but mad. He quickly retrained his attention to a safer object than her tongue; he stared at the bag and waited.
He hoped it didn’t show, but he was entirely overeager to show her the two gifts inside. He always got excited when inventing things, but somehow, making this one just for her, he’d felt like a kid waiting for Christmas. Truth be told, he’d been working on it for her for a long time now: from the first night he saw her fighting, actually.
Maybe that was stupid of him; he hadn’t even known her then. But something about the way she’d moved, fluid and grace like oil dancing over water… it had stirred his creativity. A plan had risen to mind, and he hadn’t been able to get it out of his head. He’d felt like a complete idiot, making something for a girl he didn’t even know and likely never would. But that wasn’t how his mind worked. Once an idea was born, he had to create it or it would thump around in his head until it drove him crazy. Of course, then, he hadn’t realized how close they would become, or that there would be a time that she would need his invention. He was glad now that he hadn’t stifled that creative outlet.
The second part of the gift had come later, after he had realized her interest in it; then, yet again, his mind just wouldn’t leave it alone until it was done. He had only recently finished them both. And now, after all his months of hard work, he waited anxiously for her to receive his gifts.
He watched her face carefully as she held her shoulders tightly, clearly bracing herself for something to jump out at her. He smirked, rather enjoying that he had her so off-balance with his random attacks; it meant she was learning. Ordinary things could easily and swiftly become deadly. Thankfully, this wasn’t one of those moments.
The zipper slid down the length of the bag, and she carefully lifted the edges to peek inside. He watched as the light grew in her gaze, understanding dawning, and with it, pure giddy excitement.
“You made me a superhero suit?” She pushed the edges of the garment bag over the hanger arms, eyes finding the second treat hanging on the suit neck. “And my own Aviator Guy glasses!”
He chuckled at that, feeling an odd sort of distortion in time; that night felt so long ago, the night they met and she knew him only as Aviator Guy. It was an odd sensation, connecting the two times to one another. Their relationship dynamic had matured and deepened so far beyond what it was then.
She pulled the glasses out, slipping them up her nose, giggling in delight as she looked around. She looked just as cute in her own as she had in his.
“Now we can be twins!”
He just smiled, not mentioning the fact that he hadn’t had time to fix his own glasses since she’d accidentally broken them. He didn’t want misplaced guilt to ruin her joy. Her gaze fell back on him, and her face took on a new expression of wonder. Harley held perfectly still as her hands rose to his face, fingertips lightly brushing over the colored lines she was seeing through the lenses.
“I don’t know if I will ever get used to that,” she murmured in awe, fingers still exploring. His hands itched to get involved with this whole exploration thing, though he held a firm grip on those adventurous yearnings.
Not the time, never the time. The mantra began running through his mind on autopilot. Funny thing about that mantra: it seemed the more often he said it, the less power it seemed to hold. His fingers twitched a millimeter toward her before she pulled back, a blush stealing over her cheeks as she quickly shifted the glasses to the top of her head and dove back into the bag. Harley cleared his throat, feeling the foreign sensation of his shirt collar suddenly being too tight. He wanted to yank at it.
“Wow.” Amiel’s voice was full of awe as she pulled the suit out of the bag to fully examine it. “This is amazing, Harley! It really is like my own superhero suit.”
“It’s meant to help protect ya from infection and wounds,” he supplied, still fighting that urge to yank at his collar. “I guess maybe if you’re immune, ya don’t have to worry about the infection part now. But it’ll help lessen the amount of gashes their claws’ll put in ya. It’ll help manage your body heat, too; keep ya at an even level. Hybrid bodies have to be wary of extremes in either direction, though to a lesser degree than a Rabid. Ya might not need that at all, considerin’ you’re a mystery and all. I just added everythin’ I could think of. It’s a smart fabric, too. Once it gets ripped, I’ve got tools that’ll meld it right back together like it never happened.” He grinned proudly, pointing out all the places he’d made secret pockets and holsters and sheaths for her weapons.
“Can I try it on?”
He grinned, grateful she’d asked. “I was hopin’ ya would. That way we can make sure I don’t need to make any minor adjustments or somethin’ before I turn it over to ya.”
Amiel ga
ve a little squeal before running toward the bathroom. Harley moved toward the windows, twisting the blinds open to get a good look out into the night. His eyes perused the streets, slipping into patrol mode as he waited for her to come back out. Searching the night, patrolling, had a way of calming him, centering him. And he needed a bit of that after all this sensory overload he was experiencing.
He suddenly froze, eyes shifting back to the right where he’d have sworn he had just seen movement across the street. The hairs on his skin prickled upward, his Hybrid pacing restlessly. They both felt something out of place. Yet, search as he might, his sensitive eyesight found nothing. Frowning, he considered heading down to investigate.
“This thing is amazing, Harley!”
He turned just in time to see Amiel launch herself at him. His arms instinctively stretched outward, catching her as gently around her ribs as he could.
“Careful, Thumbelina, you’re gonna break yourself again,” he murmured into the hair pulled over her shoulder as she wrapped her arms around his neck for a huge bear hug. Damn it all if she didn’t smell even more amazing than a few moments ago. Her feet dangled, tapping lightly into his shins, her little body feeling secure and safe as it pressed into his.
“Nope! Not possible. I’ve got my hero gear on now!” She hugged him closer. “Thank you so much, Harley. These are some of the best gifts I have ever been given.”
“Naw, don’t worry about it, kid. I enjoy tinkerin’.”
“But they must have taken you so long to work on. You should be proud of that.” She slid down and his heart lodged in his throat as she did several spins away from him, arms held out to the sides, giving him an eyeful of what he’d just gotten himself into.
“And it fits so perfectly! This fabric is incredible! I feel like I could be the size of a yeti and it would still mold to fit perfectly.”
His mouth went dry and his eyes forgot how to listen to commands. He was telling them to look away, but they stayed glued to her form like a complete lecher. She kept talking, unwittingly twisting the knife of torture further in his gut.
“And it moves with me like it’s not even there! I bet fighting in this is a breeze!” She slipped the glasses back down over her eyes and threw out a few careful punches in the air; she bounced up and down on her toes as she dipped and zigged, crouched and bounced back up to throw out a few more.
Harley liked to think of himself as a gentleman: a man who always respected the form of a woman, and didn’t have to put much effort into avoiding looking at it altogether. Yet in this moment he felt himself entirely devoid of those skills. Maybe he should have chosen a different fabric combination. The material stretched over her body like a second skin. It left very little to the imagination and very little breath in his lungs. In reality, it probably wasn’t that shocking. But to Harley, it was heart-attack-inducing.
Honestly, he hadn’t even considered the possibility that she would come out of the bathroom in the suit, or without anything over top of it. He figured she would check it over in the bathroom, make sure it fit, then take it off and come back out. He was entirely unprepared for this, and entirely unraveled. Normally he hated that feeling; right now, he was probably in too-deep shock to feel it.
“Uh…” He coughed, the movement allowing him to rip his eyes away long enough to pin them on the wall at his right. “That’s actually meant to be worn under your clothes,” he hinted, trying not to show just how off-balance he was. “You know, so you can wear it to work and everywhere. It’s light and thin but strong and durable… so y’all can wear it to work and everywhere,” he repeated, babbling as his eyes inevitably drifted back toward her.
“Wow, that’s really convenient!” She gushed with praise, pushing the glasses back on her head, arms out wide to examine them in the light as she moved. “I think it rocks by itself, too, though. Has that edgy crimefighter appeal, know what I mean?” Mischief grew in green depths. “Now I’m officially the Robin to your Superman.”
“Superman didn’t have a Robin,” Harley protested distractedly.
“He does now,” she corrected triumphantly. His muscles loosened slightly, his lips tipping in unconscious effort to match hers. He was finally getting himself under control. And then… “Maybe I’ll wear it both ways; layers for secrecy at work, sans the extra layers for convenience in fighting while we’re on patrol.”
Oh boy.
“You know…” Her face suddenly turned thoughtful. “I feel so much more confident now. I think that maybe I might actually have what it takes to do what I have to do now. Thank you so much. You really are amazing. I am so grateful to have you for my friend, Harley. I don’t know what I would do without you.” A soft, glowing grin began to emerge, transfiguring her face into a masterful piece of heart-stopping artistry. Seeing that grin on her face was almost worth the gnawing of worry and panic in his gut, the one that promised to be his constant companion for the next many long months of stressful patrols with Amiel at his side.
“Right back at ya, kid. Glad ya like it.” Finding strength within himself, Harley turned back toward the window, hands gripping the window frame above each side of his head. “Why don’t ya grab your stuff so we can get ya home to rest. Been a long day for you, I’d wager.”
“Gosh, yes! You would not think a week of lying around would make that much of a difference. My feet turned into total wimps in that time.”
Harley didn’t release his breath until the bathroom door shut behind her. Yanking the blinds upward on their cords, Harley pressed his forehead against the cool glass, reveling in its chill. The mantra sifted through his lips in a harsh whisper.
“Not the time, never the time. Not the time, never the time! Not the… uggh, Harley, ya damned fool, get ahold of yourself!” He needed a new method of control. His mantra was broken.
Chapter 22
Raider
He watched from the shadows as she climbed onto the bike with the Hybrid. The idiot Hybrid was so lost to her that he didn’t even smell him, and his instincts didn’t warn him of the danger lurking just at his back. If he wanted to, the Raider could take her from the mutt right now. Rip her from him as he ripped the man’s throat out, both in one fell movement. His hands clenched at his sides. But now was not the time. She still wasn’t ready.
His insides burned as she wrapped her arms around the mixed breed, a small, satisfied stretch to her pink lips. It instantly brought back to mind the way she’d thrown herself into the mutt’s arms earlier, clinging to him, face aglow with joy. He had no right to give her that joy… it was the Raider’s right alone, and the mutt had stolen that from him.
The Raider had watched the whole display from the street below: watched as she clung to the Hybrid in that alluring outfit. It made his body shiver with the need to kill. He closed his eyes now, drawing in a deep, shuddering breath of her scent, before she disappeared down the street. Yet it brought him little pleasure, despite its growing allure; because no matter how marvelous she smelled, it was still intermingled with the scent of the Hybrid.
Images from their embrace in the window returned. The Hybrid had touched her, held her, in that outfit. The Raider could practically feel the sheer need rolling off the mutt when he had turned away, pressed himself to the glass in an effort to dispel that need. The Raider understood need; he understood desperation, sheer and devastating cravings. So he recognized them in others when he saw them. The girl had a way of bringing such needs in a man to the surface. No matter how dark their souls, her light beckoned to them.
Roaring in frustration, the Raider ran into the night in search of outlet. He found it in an elderly man, crouched amongst the trashcans in an alleyway, relieving himself. The Raider’s eyes searched the night in disgust, hoping another escape would present itself. The smell of this one was abhorrent. Yet there was no one else, and the need to kill burned within, seared him like acid, and he knew this would have to be the one to taste of his internal pain.
The Raider waited until
the man teetered across the street, readjusting his pants as he moved along. He let him walk ahead for some time, giving himself plenty of space from the smell, drawing out the pleasure of the hunt.
When he could wait no longer, he attacked. The minutes stretched long, possibly into hours, as he shredded the vile rodent. His mouth watered as he held the still heart in his grasp, the scent of blood and madness calling to him. A battle waged within him, twisting and tormenting. He yearned to touch his tongue to the feast before him, to lap up the red juices that cried his name, to sate himself on the victory of the kill.
The weak muscle exploded in his grip, oozing between his fingers as the Raider breathed raggedly. He couldn’t eat the heart. He couldn’t eat any of it. His master would know, and his master would ruin everything if he discovered the truth before the Raider was ready to act.
The heart fell onto the carcass, adding to the gory mess. The Raider looked down at himself in conflicted rage. He was a mess, not just from the gore, but internally. His kind was not meant to be subjected to mastery, from others or themselves. Yet loyalty was bred into him, because of his creation alone. His master was a harsh taskmaster, but he had given him life, given him much. Still, he could not give him everything. Not only that, but he’d given him the key to his destiny, yet cruelly denied it to him at once. And the Raider was tired of waiting, tired of being told no.
His face lifted to the sky, searching for the scent that made his black heart whole. It was she and she alone who was meant to be his mate, and he would have her. But she wasn’t ready.
Standing, the Raider stalked away from the carnage, a calm returning and settling deep in his gut, the burn for violence quelled to a distant promise. He had just enough patience left to give her the time she needed. He could smell her ripening, blossoming from within. Soon, she would be ready for harvesting. Soon, the world would quake in terror under their reign.
