Instinct Ascending: Rabids Book 2 Read online

  “Too late.” He winked. The action caught them both off guard for a second, but they swiftly moved past it so the awkwardness wouldn’t hang overhead.

  “Yeah, yeah.” She shoved him and he returned the favor, though much softer than last time, taking it easy on her. She shook her head. “Anyways, I wanted to celebrate. And tomorrow I have to start changing my sleeping schedule, so I figured tonight would be the best time.”

  Harley nodded. “Good stuff. Where ya wanna meet?”

  “Let’s meet at the restaurant. It’s called Titans.”

  Harley nodded as though he knew the place. “Swanky.”

  “You’re swanky,” she teased, heart feeling light.

  “You know it. Now pay attention.” He moved back to showing her the proper care of her weapons, and she couldn’t stop grinning like a buffoon. Her plans were falling into place perfectly.

  Chapter 7

  Harley

  Harley watched from the window above as the girl climbed onto her motorcycle and rode away. He was glad she couldn’t see him lurking and grinning like a complete idiot. That kid… he shook his head, letting it thump against the cold glass window. She had a way of tying his guts up in a knot and somehow making him enjoy it.

  Call him a wuss, but he’d felt his gut do a flop when he smelled her enter the gym, earlier than expected. He could feel her mischief, her excitement, and immediately knew what she was up to. He thought about calling her out the minute she walked up the stairs, but decided to let it play out a little longer. She’d been a bit down lately, so serious and slightly withdrawn. Feeling her innocent joy and excitement had him wanting to let it linger as long as possible. Yet when he heard her tiptoeing her way over, he knew he had to call her on it or he’d burst out laughing. He nearly did anyways when she all but melted into a puddle of unsatisfied goo on the floor at being caught. Harley found that he enjoyed ruffling the kid’s feathers.

  He shifted his shoulders, skin tingling as though he could still feel her touch. It seemed she enjoyed ruffling his feathers, too. He’d nearly combusted into his own pile of goo when she pulled that stunt. His tattoos were a sensitive treasure, a matter of pride and self-expression. Obviously the wolf hadn’t been of his choosing, yet he even felt a protective sense over that one.

  Tattoos were a very personal choice, something he didn’t take lightly — especially with his Hybrid body. The increased healing rate of a Hybrid’s DNA meant their skin was always regenerating at a swift rate, sloughing off cells and replacing them with new ones. The process left their skin in a highly sensitive state at all times. That also meant the tattooing process held an all-new level of pain, and it had to be done often. Every two weeks, to be exact. L had a permanent spot open for Harley and the rest of the Hybrids. Everyone had to get the wolf tattoo, but only those with a pure love of ink dared to get more tattoos than that, just because of the sheer amount of upkeep and unnecessary pain.

  His hand lifted to rest on the fish over his heart. His eyes drifted shut, replaying those long moments of torture in his mind. Not the torture of getting the tattoos, but the torture of Amiel’s touch as her fingertips brushed over the ink. He had been wrapped up in so many torrents of emotions in that short five minutes, he’d thought his head would explode.

  First, she’d touched the wolf. He and his Hybrid alike stiffened with tension, both of them protective of what the wolf stood for and how people looked at them for it. They trusted Amiel, they knew she accepted them, and yet he found that to some degree they were still waiting for her to suddenly don the look of disgust or fear most people did at the sight of it. She didn’t. He never should have doubted her, but he was still relieved when she didn’t.

  If anything, she had seemed protective of it in her own way. He grinned, thinking back to the disgruntled tone she’d taken, calling Foundation’s methods stupid. She’d asked him if he hated the tattoo, and for once he found he could answer freely, honestly. And he found that he actually enjoyed the feeling of openness, honesty.

  It relaxed him into opening up about the rest of the tattoos, though it did little to dampen the effect her touch had on him as her devious little fingers twisted up his insides with a feather-light touch. He’d felt every millimeter of skin traveled, deep into the marrow of his bones. She’d crooned over his dragon, marveled at the cuffs about his wrists.

  But it was the fish that had nearly been his undoing. He’d hoped she would forget about that one, but her insatiable curiosity wasn’t to be underestimated. Her palm had felt so perfectly fitted to his skin, so inviting. He’d felt the idiotic notion that it belonged there. And then she’d asked him about the tattoo. He’d thought she would scoff, scorn his choice of getting a tattoo for the woman that she knew had done a number on him. Instead, she’d surprised him again. She’d looked at him with heartfelt understanding, and she’d praised him for his character. And in that moment, he’d wanted to lean in and…

  He thumped his head against the glass. He’d wanted to kiss her. Of all the idiotic and stupid things he could do, he wanted it. And wanting, in this world, was a dangerous thing — especially for his kind. He wasn’t allowed to want, to need. He wasn’t allowed to take. And he definitely wasn’t allowed when it was from a sweet, innocent thing like Amiel: the brightest sun in this dismal world.

  He’d seen the way others looked at her. No matter how grouchy or scared the person was, Amiel had a way about her that drew a person in. And she had no idea of her effect on them. It was a gift as dangerous as it was beautiful, because she drew everyone in — the good and the bad. He wasn’t entirely sure where he fell in that category, but he knew he couldn’t, in good conscience, act on what he’d been yearning for earlier. It was dangerous in too many aspects to even consider.

  Shoving away from the window, Harley forced himself to focus. He went to the office, yanked on his street clothes, donned his freshly polished weapons, fought to get into Rabid-gutting mode. And yet he found himself thinking about the way they’d joked around while cleaning the weapons, and how proficient she had become at it by the time she left. He found himself thinking about her touch, her laugh, and the way she made him pull out of his blackened shell. He found himself wondering why he’d agreed to go to this restaurant with the kid tonight, especially when he knew they’d likely be kicked out before they made it through the door, thanks to his tattoo. He found himself wondering if this was considered a date, and what he’d gotten himself into. He found himself becoming a complete sap. Growling, Harley stormed down the gym stairs, slammed the door, and hopped on his bike.

  “Stop being a pussy and man up,” Harley grumbled to himself. Just then a cat strutted out of the shadows, its back arching, front feet lifting off the ground as it did a peculiar sideways amble and hissed at him. Harley growled and the thing took off into the night.

  “Yeah, you too!” he called after it, bringing his bike awake with a roaring rumble that immediately set his nerves aright. “That’s more like it.” He glanced at his watch. He had two hours before he was supposed to meet the kid at the restaurant. Maybe he could get a few more marks on his Rabid record before then.

  Chapter 8

  Cajun

  Pell shifted his feet, looking up and down the alleyway, bouncing on his toes. His excitement for adventure wasn’t the least bit obscured by fear. Kind of ridiculous for a Clean, considering their current surroundings. Being on the edge of the outskirts should make any sane Clean nervous.

  “Remind me again what the plan is, here?” Pell grinned up at Cajun, breath puffing out in front of his face and fogging his glasses. He scrunched up his nose in an effort to keep the things from falling off his nose, clearly not wanting to take his hands out of his pockets to do it. Cajun couldn’t say that he blamed the guy. Considering the temperamental weather of Texas, it could be rain, sun, or snow, cold or hot, just depending on the day. Tonight was one of the cold ones, with a sheet of rain pouring down to boot. Cajun hated cold nights. They made him feel sluggish and t
ired. He wanted to curl up in a warm, heated blanket with his girl and sleep. Hybrids and Rabids were alike in this aspect, neither of them holding a love for the cold seasons.

  “We’re trying to catch up with Harley,” Cajun supplied.

  “Yes, but why? I thought you two were off the grid from each other at the moment.”

  “We are. And that’s why we’re here. There are some surprises in my brother’s future tonight, and I’m trying to do some damage control before then. Consider it an olive branch… or self-preservation. Whichever you prefer.”

  “Damage control,” Pell murmured, rolling that statement around in his mind. “And that’s why we’re holding his bike hostage?” Pell asked, looking at the bike but carefully keeping his distance. Cajun didn’t offer the same courtesy, outright leaning against it. Harley wasn’t big on letting anyone else touch the thing; in fact, the only one he’d ever let ride it was Amiel. That alone was a marvel and spoke volumes of his brother’s opinion of the girl.

  The wind shifted then, and Cajun finally caught his brother’s scent on it. It tasted of frustration, annoyance, and a bit of apprehension mixed with grudging happiness. Cajun grinned.

  “That’s right, because he’s not going anywhere without this hunk of junk. That means he can’t avoid us.” A pebble whistled through the air, pelting Cajun in the stomach. He grunted, leaning over slightly. “Ahh, there’s my sweet little brother now.” Cajun wheezed out a chuckle, ignoring the stirring of annoyance in his Hybrid. It was all fun and games, fun and games, no need to get annoyed.

  “Get off my bike, chump,” Harley growled.

  Cajun shook his head. “Nope. Not until you hear what I have to say.”

  “Kinda hard to talk with no teeth,” Harley warned. Cajun pushed away from the bike with a grin, hands raised in surrender. Harley walked toward the bike, obviously intent on leaving. He paused, giving Pell a confused glance. Shaking his head, he continued onward without a word, clearly deciding he didn’t even want to know.

  “Pell’s here to make sure we don’t gut each other,” Cajun asserted helpfully.

  “What’s he gonna do, bore us to death with history lessons?” Harley scoffed. Pell finally caved, popping his hands out of the pockets to shove the glasses up his nose with a sheepish grin.

  “You have to talk to me eventually, Harley. I know you aren’t still mad at me. You’re just being stubborn.”

  Harley ignored him, digging out an old rag in his side bags to wipe away the dirt and gore on his jacket sleeves.

  “I hate the silent game. You’re too good at it.” Cajun sighed. Harley turned around, a challenge in his eyes, and when he finally spoke, Cajun almost wished he hadn’t pressed the issue.

  “I smelled y’all at the restaurant the other day.”

  “Oh? Which restaurant would that be?” Cajun deflected.

  “Don’t play dumb, Caj. I got places to go, and I ain’t got time for it.”

  “Okay. Fair enough. We went there to apologize to your bird,” he admitted. “We had to go see her when I knew you’d be gone. Wouldn’t get a word in edgewise over all the scowling you’d do, otherwise,” Cajun teased. “Look, I know you aren’t going to be mad at me forever. I doubt you’re mad at me now. It’s just our way. We get mad at each other, we ignore each other for a while and then we move past it like nothing happened. But she doesn’t see it that way. She’s terrified she’s come between us.”

  Harley frowned, and Cajun could tell he was working through the implications. Of course Amiel would feel responsible for something like that. After losing her own brother, and dealing with her guilt on that matter, it was a given she’d react this way. He watched as his brother’s muscles relaxed, shifting into a stance that shouted his readiness to talk. Harley opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted as a guy strolled up to them from the shadows. He was covered in tattoos, muscle and all the wrong attitude.

  “What are you Halfer freaks doing here? You’re on Cut territory!”

  Pell’s curiosity and excitement instantly magnified, as though eager to watch the coming fight. Cajun knew him well enough to know he was. Anything to do with Hybrids excited Pell, being the fanboy that he was. Harley rolled his eyes.

  “Can’t ya see we’re in the middle of a serious conversation here?”

  “I don’t care if you’re in the middle of taking a dump, you aren’t welcome here!” the stooge shouted.

  “Do you have many people taking dumps in the street here?” Cajun asked curiously. “Are you the poop patroller? If this happens often, I could understand the need for one.”

  “It would explain the grumpiness, too,” Pell interjected helpfully. Cajun nodded in agreement. Poop patrol would put him in a bad mood, too.

  “Death to Rabes and Halfers alike!” the goon shouted, eyes shifting to land on Pell. “And their sympathizers!” The Cut threw his fingers upward, flashing what was supposed to be an intimidating gang sign. Cajun stared at it for a long moment before a bright grin split his face.

  “Oh! Hand puppets! I love those, too!”

  The Cut glowered, not at all liking the lack of fear in their reactions. Cajun held up a hand, begging patience. “No, really — look. I make a wicked dog! And there is this really complicated one you make like this.” He hooked his thumbs together. “If you do it just right, it looks like a bird, I kid you not.”

  Harley folded his arms, offering one solid nod. “I like hand puppets, too.”

  “Really?” Cajun challenged, suddenly interested. “I’ve never seen you make one.”

  The Cut opened his mouth to send them another string of angry curses, but Harley offered the thug a patronizing smack on the cheek with his hand.

  “Shut it, Junior, the adults are talkin’.”

  The thug’s teeth ground together as he reached inside his jacket for a knife. Harley ignored him, turning his attention back to the topic at hand. “I make ’em. There’s one I’m rather fond of. You’ve seen it a few times, yourself.”

  “Show me, then.” Cajun smirked, enjoying the way he could practically see the hair on Harley’s skin rise against the friendly challenge. Cajun was probably crazy, but he enjoyed pressing a challenge now and then, just to test their boundaries. He found he gained some sort of sick pleasure from it. Harley’s eyes narrowed, but he held up his hands.

  “See, the trick is to get the shape just right. Somethin’ like this.” He wiggled the fingers on his left hand, the right forming a fist. Suddenly that fist shot out, clocking the Cut in the jaw and dropping him to the ground, out cold. Harley shrugged, a chilly grin stretched over his teeth.

  “Remember now?”

  Cajun nodded slowly, rubbing at his own jaw. “Ah, yes. I do remember seeing that one a time or two over the years.”

  “I thought so.” Harley nodded, turning to walk away. Pausing, he turned back. “I ain’t mad at ya. But if y’all go to the restaurant again, I will be. Nothin’ is innocent when it comes to Foundation, Caj. If I smelled ya there, the others could too. I don’t want ’em led her way. Besides, you’ve seen the sign on their window.”

  Cajun’s eyes narrowed. He’d definitely seen the sign. “Stupid air biscuits. Who do they think protects their pathetic establishment, anyways?”

  Harley grunted in agreement. Pell snickered. “Air biscuits. That’s Aussie for farts, you know. It always gets a chuckle out of me when he says that,” he confided in Harley. Harley folded his arms over his chest, not amused. Pell cleared his throat and shut up. Cajun shook out his shoulders, trying to control his rising emotions.

  “And trust me, brother, I don’t want Foundation having anything to do with the bird, either,” Cajun growled, that familiar stirring of danger a constant reminder that the girl held their lives in the balance with her mere existence. It was easier to hold in check the more he grew to like the bird, but the fact still remained that she was a sleeping detriment to them all. It made for a bad case of indigestion, all this internal discord.

  “I’ll
let Amiel know we’re best buds again,” Harley acquiesced grudgingly. “Can’t have the kid feelin’ bad about somethin’ that ain’t her fault. But I mean it, Caj. Stay away from the diner, or I’ll introduce your face to more of them hand puppets.” It was Cajun’s turn for his skin to crawl under Harley’s own form of challenge. The smile quickly followed. He really loved that doofus sometimes.

  Harley shifted his focus to Pell. “And you: keep your nose in the granny porn and computer books. She’s not a science project.”

  Pell watched Harley ride away, an expression of surprised confusion scrunching his facial features. “Should that make sense to me? Or is that a normal insult from him?”

  Cajun winced apologetically when Pell’s eyes met his.

  “I may have told him you were into that sort of thing.”

  “You told him I was into granny porn?” Pell asked, eyes wide and slightly hurt. “Why would you say something like that?”

  Cajun winced again. “You know Harley — he doesn’t trust easily. He wouldn’t have believed that you were helping us unless I gave him a reason to believe I was holding something big and grimy over your head.”

  Pell looked away, face crumpled like he’d just seen his favorite dog get run over. “That is so messed up, dude,” he muttered, shoulders slumping. “You know old people terrify me!”

  Cajun patted him consolingly on the shoulder. “Yeah, sorry about that one, mate. Don’t worry, I’ll explain it to him when he’s settled down a bit. It’ll be fine. You heard him, we’re besties again. She’ll be right soon.”

  “She? She who?” Pell asked, lost.

  “Everything. Everything will be right.”

  “Oh. More Aussie slang.” Pell nodded, still clearly down in the dumps. Cajun gave him a playful noogie on the head, then pulled a mumbling, pouty Pell along with him back toward the car. He had a dinner to get to.