by Amy Cook
He gripped the tranquilizer in his hand, searching for an opening. Her hands were still restrained, but he knew they wouldn't be for long. Her head ticked to the side, watching his every move. It was highly unnerving. He jumped forward to slam the needle home, but he'd waited too long. The restraints snapped like twigs, as though she'd only been waiting for his attack. She leapt from her perch, tackling him to the floor. The syringe filled with the precious tranquilizer rolled from his grip as they tumbled across the floor. He kicked her off of him, but she rolled to her feet with a predatory grace, ripping one of the rails from the broken bed. It slammed across his temple, knocking him to the ground before he could react.
“You are weak, and slow. Do you know why?” she growled, dragging him across the floor. Dumping him in a heap on the floor under the windowsill, she sat squarely on his back. Had the blood transfer worked, his inner beast would be fighting back, crazed in its intent to kill her. Yet he cowered under her aggression, his muscles and tendons rebelling on him.
“My blood is seeping through your veins, crippling you, devouring your essence. But even if it had worked the way you’d hoped, you’d still be a pathetic, sobbing mess. Hybrid DNA increases the dominant, strongest assets within you, meant to keep you alive. Sadly for you, your strongest assets are cowardice and weakness. And no amount of my blood was ever going to change that.”
He screamed out in fear and pain as she stabbed the tranquilizer needle into his back.
“Can you feel it, baby?”
She mocked him, hatred dripping from her mouth along with the saliva that slipped from her fangs. As unconsciousness stole over him, the door shattered, three of his loyal Raiders rushing through to come to his aid. In the last moments before his eyes closed, he watched her break their necks, twisting them so sharply she nearly beheaded them. He had been wrong. When those floodgates opened, she was far more dangerous than her sister.
Chapter 58
Harley
Harley and Cajun stood at the bottleneck, gasping and ragged. They'd been fighting from the moment they’d entered the slums, and were just barely entering the last building on the map left by the Rat. There was a reason no one ventured this deep into the Skirts. Rabids congregated down here like a nest of ravenous rats. And most of them were the Rabids who had lost any desire to be near humanity, except to come up for the occasional feeding.
Newly turned Rabids seemed to feel an unconscious draw to society, still clinging to some of their humanity in the aspect of finding comfort in civilization. But as they aged, as they grew more deranged and lost to the infection, they began to hide in the recesses of abandoned places in the cities. They were the kind Harley hated dealing with most, aside from Raiders, probably because they were just one link of intelligence away from Raiders. Looking into the face of utter loss and soulless hunger was never pleasant. Plus, they stunk even worse than the newer Rabids.
Upon reaching their destination, it had taken Harley and Cajun a long time to find the entrance. Everything was sealed up tight with mortar and bricks. Eventually they had stumbled upon these tunnels. There was little light down here, and they had to rely heavily on their eyesight and the lighters they had in their pockets. Harley wished he’d brought the road flares from the side bags of his motorcycle. He’d had to leave it near the entrance of the Skirts; the Skirts were only traversable on foot.
Amiel's rescue party was looking particularly shabby at this point. Harley glanced at his brother, grateful to have him at his side, yet guilty. Charleen was going to kill him for putting his brother in such a dangerous mix — without her, no less.
“Stop drooling over me. You're my brother; it's disturbing, not to mention illegal.” Cajun smirked charmingly.
“You're lookin’ tired, old man. Sure ya can handle this?” Harley tossed back.
“I was born ready. You were just born ugly.”
“Ready and stupid, then.”
“Mum loved me best.” Cajun always said it in that singsong way that Harley hated most.
“Shut up,” Harley mumbled half-heartedly. Just then, a scream floated toward them from the darkness ahead. His Hybrid scrabbled frantically in his mind. The scream was one filled with pain, pleasure and fury, and he knew who it belonged to.
“Amiel!” Harley growled. He ditched the lighter, barreling ahead, relying only on his senses to guide him. Cajun followed behind, completely in tune with the pack mentality of battle. Bursting out of the tunnels, they came face to face with a horde of Rabids. Harley crouched low, teeth bared. With an infuriated roar, he flung himself forward, muscles tensed for impact. Nothing was gonna stand between him and his mate.
Chapter 59
Amiel
Amiel was just below the surface, watching in horrified fascination as she broke neck after neck with a swift snap and yank. The beast was at the surface, in full control, and for now, she was okay with that. She needed to escape, and if what Darvey had said was true, she needed to wade through twenty-five Rabids and two more Raiders before Harley walked straight into a trap. She didn’t even glance back at the carnage she left behind. Harley was her priority, the only thing that mattered right now. If it meant becoming lost in her inhumanity to save him, she'd take it.
She swept from the room, down a long corridor. Things had changed. She wasn't sure how; the thought kept slipping through her mental fingers. But she knew they had changed. Yet she didn't bother to fight for control of her inner darkness, trusting its instincts to lead them out safely. Sounds of fighting ahead spurred Amiel onward. Rabids piled on top of her as she ran, not slowing her down an inch. She moved fluidly, snapping necks as she dodged through them, using the chains still attached to her wrists to deal out blows. The dim lighting of the place didn’t slow her either, with the return of her green, enhanced vision. Soon, she found herself in a large room, some sort of chemical plant filled with large, metal, cylindrical containers, the trail of dead Rabids marking her progress.
Ahead of her, she saw Harley and Cajun fighting the two remaining Raiders, along with ten Rabids. The Raiders stayed at the edges, watching as they sent their pet Rabids in, occasionally diving in to take cheap shots themselves. They were enjoying playing with the Hybrids, drawing out their imminent deaths. Cajun and Harley disappeared from view. Amiel roared in fury, pushing to the surface to join her darker side in this conquest. She wanted to crush them all.
The Rabids cringed down in fear, heads swiveling toward the new threat. The Raiders viewed her with interest, heads ticking to the side in curiosity. Harley and Cajun moved into action, taking down several Rabids before they even realized what was happening. As though sensing their fun had come to an end, the Raiders turned their attention toward Amiel. Everything else faded from her interest, attention fixed only on destroying every last infected in this building. These two were just numbers on her list.
“What kind of Halfling are you?” the male on the right asked.
“Yes, what are you?” the other mimicked, as they inquisitively approached. She noticed with a detached fascination that they were twins.
“The funeral director.” Amiel felt her face draw into a devious grin, lips stretched wide over her fangs. They paused for a moment, hesitation in their steps. The hesitation didn’t last; if anything, the sight of her teeth only seemed to fuel them in their eagerness to attack. Amiel’s grin grew. Their eagerness and curiosity entertained her.
They circled her, similar smiles on their faces, like sharks drawn to blood in the water. The Raiders that had burst into the room with Darvey hadn’t been ready for her. These were different. They’d been watching her move, had seen her kill off their pet Rabids on her way to them. When they attacked, they attacked together, not separately, from both sides at once. They aimed for what they perceived as her weak spots; they put up much more of a fight than the others.They could fight all they liked, but they were still going to die.
Amiel moved into action, fluidly dancing between their strikes. Her shirt clung to h
er skin, seeped through with her sweat. When they reached for her, their fingers slipped off her skin as though she were covered in soap. She reveled in their roars of frustration. She found herself wanting to draw the fight out, enjoying the dance. Yet she could feel her body tiring, the transition to this new existence having exhausted her long before the fighting began. So she watched for her opening to an ending. And when they lunged for her at the same time, she took it.
Grabbing the wrist of one, she spun her body to use the force of its attack, impaling its claws into the eyes of its counterpart. Instantly, the receiver sagged, the claws having skewered its brain. The first howled in horror and fury, but it was quickly cut off by the restraint chain she tossed around its neck. Holding the chain in both hands, she twisted, turning two quick turns until she ended up back-to-back with the Raider.
It twitched, releasing garbled screams as it tried to turn in the chains’ grasp. She leaned forward, forcing it to bend backward, putting it off balance enough that it couldn’t get the momentum it needed to escape. The claws of one hand were still firmly trapped in its sibling, while the other flailed about, attacking her where it could. She didn’t so much as flinch as the razor sharp claws sliced into her sides, hips and legs. One swipe even got lucky, slashing just below her eye. Still she held tight, yanking down sharply a few times when it neared escape.
Eventually, the frantic movements slowed, feeble jerks coming fewer and farther between. Amiel turned, dumping the Raider on its stomach. Still holding the chains in her hands, she slammed her foot down on its shoulder blades. The opposing forces resulted in yet another snapped neck on her record, and two dead Raiders at her feet. Yanking the chains free, she turned toward the four remaining Rabids that fought her mate and his kin. She could feel her mate’s exhaustion, his determination to end this and reach her side. She opened her mouth wide in a snarl, ready to leap into battle once more.
A black shrouded figure suddenly loped out of the darkness, flames bursting from each wrist. Amiel crouched low, ready to attack. Yet something curious happened. The fire enveloped three of the remaining Rabids, sending them running amok: three screaming balls of fire. They crumpled to the floor, writhing until their last breath. Harley and Cajun easily finished off the remaining Rabid, both moving in for the kill as one. Amiel strode forward, placing herself in front of her mate and his brother, staring down the figure that had come to their aid.
The fire immediately came to a halt, the figure putting its hands out to the sides. Then it bowed its head slightly, and Amiel instinctively recognized it as a sign of fealty. Curiosity bloomed within. Confidently stalking forward, she circled the unknown ally. Its face was wrapped in blackened cloth, dark glasses over its eyes, thus obscuring any way to recognize features. But from the wide, tall stature, from the scent, she knew it was a male. She leaned closer, drawing in a deep breath. The figure didn’t even flinch as she continued her circling perusal.
“Relax — I'm on your side,” the man grunted, voice deep and smooth like the undercurrent of a river. Something about that voice lulled her into a feeling of security. Without a second thought, she circled back around, stopping immediately in front of Harley. Her back was fully exposed to the stranger, and she didn’t care in the least. She felt no danger from him, not an ounce of concern. Harley’s eyes widened as she smiled up at him.
Chapter 60
Harley
Harley and Cajun stared at Amiel as she moved to walk circles around the stranger. Cajun leaned closer to whisper, though he didn’t take his eyes off the spectacle before them.
“Dude… your woman has alien eyes.”
“Yeah.”
“She didn’t have those before, right?”
Harley pulled his eyes away from his mate to give his brother an annoyed glare.
“Didn’t think so.” Cajun shook his head. “And the fangs? I'm pretty sure I'd remember the fangs. Did I forget the fangs? My brain is pretty screwed up, but I don’t think it’s that bad. Tell me it’s not that bad,” Cajun begged. Harley’s mind flashed back to all of the kissing he and Amiel had done over the last few days.
“No. Definitely no fangs.” He sniffed the air. “She smells different, too.” His eyes zeroed in on her neck. “And the tattoo’s gone,” he whispered in shock. That tattoo should have had another week of life, at least. What had happened to it? They stopped talking as Amiel suddenly turned, walking toward them. Harley’s surprise grew at the implications of her actions. She’d turned her back on the man, showing either her trust or her lack of concern for his ability to be dangerous. Considering the guy had just toasted a bunch of Rabids without getting near them, Harley would say he had his fair share of danger. That meant, for whatever reason, Amiel trusted the guy.
Harley stopped thinking then as Amiel neared. His Hybrid stood perfectly still in his mind, drinking in every detail. She stood staring up at him with those big black eyes, the inky substance leaking down her cheeks in thin rivulets, fangs peeking over the edges of her lips.
And then she smiled, and his world went to pieces. He exploded inside. Every pent-up fear, all of his anger, every ounce of love he felt for this tiny girl in front of him, it all blew up in his face. He reached out and snapped her up into his arms, pressing her to his body as if he could meld her to his very soul. He had his hellcat back. She might look a little… different, but she was still his Amiel.
“I thought I lost ya, kid,” he whispered, holding her close. He was so far gone, he didn’t even care when tears burned his eyes, threatening to spill over the brims. His Hybrid slammed its will against his, but Harley didn’t have to be forced. He was entirely in line with what his Hybrid wanted. One arm still holding her up, the other clasped the back of her neck as he slanted his lips over hers.
He poured every ounce of what he was made of into that kiss. His tongue slid slowly along the length of one long fang, and a growl of pleasure sounded heavily in the air, though he wasn’t sure if it was from him or Amiel. Her arms wrapped around him, fingers sinking into his hair. She gripped it, yanking just enough to entice. She pulled back, offered a devilish grin, then leaned in and licked his scruff. Literally licked his scruff, from chin to ear. Harley’s eyes flew wide, and Cajun choked.
“Ooookay. Taking a step back from the National Geographic, here,” Cajun muttered, stumbling toward the stranger. “It’s about time someone asked this, and since other people are clearly not going to, I’m left to it. Who, exactly, are you?”
Harley had honestly forgotten the guy was even there. The kid made a mess of him… and he still didn’t care. All that mattered was her, in his arms, smiling that beautiful, fanged smile.
“There’s no time for that now. We’ve wasted enough already. Do you have her dog tags?”
Harley’s attention immediately shifted to the stranger, protective instinct flaring to life. He let Amiel slide to the ground, moving to place his body in front of hers.
“How do ya know about that?”
“Do you have them or not?” When Harley didn’t reply, the man sighed in frustration. “Foundation is closing in on us on all sides. There will be no escaping. And if the Director sees Amiel like that, she will stop at nothing until she has that power fully grasped in her control. Aside from that, Amiel is too new to it. That side can easily overtake her, change her. The tags are the only thing that can save her now: from Foundation, and from herself.”
Harley stared at the man, weighing what he felt in the man’s intentions. Which wasn’t much. The guy had a way about him that seemed to mask the senses. What Harley did feel, however, was not threatening.
“How do I know this ain’t gonna damage her? The tags ain’t exactly risk-free.”
“You don’t have to know, because I do,” the man stated firmly. “And I know, because I am the one that created them. Now, do you have them or not?” A beeping sound suddenly emitted from the man, and he glanced at his wrist. The alarm silenced, and the man went still.
“You’re out of
time. Save the world and the woman you love, or give her to the wolves. The choice is yours.”
Sounds from down the corridor floated toward Harley’s ears, and he tensed. Foundation. The man wasn’t lying about that, at least. His hands dove into his jean pockets, producing the tags. He stared down at them. A small, delicate, blood-covered hand suddenly covered his. He closed his eyes.
“Tell me what to do, kid.” The tags lifted from his hands, and he opened his eyes to see her holding the links out to him.
“I will fight to the top for you,” she stated firmly, eyes burning with promise. Instantly, he knew what she meant. She was ready to take on Foundation, and she was determined to fight her way through every Hybrid to be his LeaderMate. It was her choice to make, and she had made it.
“Hellcat,” he whispered with a sad smile, as his fingers went under her hair to attach the necklace. The second the clasp on the chain clicked into place, she went limp in his arms, smile disappearing as her body went slack. The fangs disappeared just as quickly, slipping upward to hide behind her lips once more. Immediately, the man in the robe moved forward.
“Quickly, you only have a few moments; wipe her down.” He dumped a bottle of water on a rag and tossed it to Harley. Harley set to scrubbing the black from her face. Cajun moved to stand by the man, eyeing him with interest. The man pretended not to notice, eyes nervously shifting toward the room’s entrance. Cajun suddenly reached out, lifting the man’s sleeve. Harley’s eyes were drawn to the exposed skin of the man’s arms as he lifted Amiel into his own. A tattoo with a bird rising from flames marked the guy’s wrist, right above a shiny nozzle-object strapped there. Cajun’s eyes widened with giddy interest.
