Edge of Instinct: Rabids Book 1 (37 page)

“Okay. You’re out of the tub. Now what?” She grunted under the weight of him. Maintaining a strong grip around his waist was proving difficult. Her arms didn’t close all the way around, and he was slippery with a mixture of blood and water. Sighing in defeat, she struggled to drag him along with her as quickly as possible with him groaning unintelligibly the whole way. But at least they were making progress! She was grateful her apartment was so small, or they’d never make it to the bed. Obviously her optimism had come too soon, for at that very moment his immense weight became a very
limp
immense weight, and they both crumpled to the floor halfway out of the bathroom door. The air whooshed out of her as he collapsed on top of her, though she could feel the slight strain in the muscles of his upper body as he tried to keep some of his weight off of her. As weak as he was, the action didn’t help much, nor did it last long as his arms gave out. But the effort was appreciated. In the midst of trying to think her way free of the predicament, she froze. His nose skimmed along the shell of her ear, and she could feel the air sifting past it as he drew in a deep breath.

“Holy shizzery, please don’t be trying to eat me!” she gasped out, under his full weight.

“Smells…” She rolled her eyes. What was with him and her smell? Of course, she probably
did
smell terribly by now, wrestling around with him and working up a sweat the way she was.

“Yes, yes, I stink. Maybe it will keep you from eating me,” she quipped. His stubble rasped softly against her cheek.

“Delicious,” he mumbled in seeming agreement with her fears. She winced, waiting for what he would do next. She was completely at his mercy. When his forehead thumped down on the floor by her ear, she realized he’d passed out on her, again. Quite literally passed out on her. She was relieved he wasn’t going to savage her, but she had no idea where to go from here. The fact that she hadn’t shifted into full on exorcist mode gave her hope that he wasn’t an infectious danger, at least. Of course that meant he was going into shock from loss of blood, cold, and exhaustion. Not a great option either, but at least she might not end up his dinner. She shivered herself. Despite the harrowing workout she was receiving, his skin was freezing where it pressed against hers. Closing her eyes for a moment, she forced her brain to think through a list of what she needed to do. She needed to get him somewhere safe and relatively comfortable, tend to his wounds, and cover him with blankets to warm him.

“First things first.” She stretched out her arms, carefully pressing his arms down to lay against his sides, safely out of her way. Even his arms weighed a ton, she grunted in frustration. With a lot of squirming, she was able to get her legs out from under his, and wrapped them around his waist, locking them at the ankles for a secure grasp. With some more squirming, she was able to make it further up his body so that she had more leverage at the elbows. Pressing up to her elbows, his jaw now rested on her shoulder. With a deep bracing breath, she pushed with all the weight on her elbows, then pulled backward. She repeated it again and again, struggling to move their combined weight. Their bodies slowly slid out of the bathroom, inch by inch. She smirked in triumph as his feet finally cleared the bathroom door. Harley stirred on top of her, and she stilled. His head shifted so that his nose pressed against the side of her neck, each breath tickling across her skin in the most unnerving way. She looked to the ceiling praying for help when he unconsciously snuggled closer. Butterflies sprung to life in her stomach, and her heart did a little tap dance. What was wrong with her? The man could eat her and she was acting like a child with a crush for heaven sakes.

She shook her head to clear the fog his touch had unsuspectingly created. It was definitely a bad time for her manic hormones to pop up. Eyes searching frantically, she saw the blankets hanging off her chair. She’d fallen asleep there reading the other day. Flattening herself to the floor in order to extend her reach, simultaneously ignoring the way the new position shifted Harley as well, she strained until her fingertips brushed the fabric. Inch by torturous inch she pulled it toward her. Harley shifted against her again, body wiggling slightly as though he were settling into a comfortable mattress. Her eyes shot open wide as a, dare she say, pleased growl issued softly from the back of his throat. Saying another prayer that he wasn’t going to eat her, she tossed the blanket out over top of him.

Twisting, and pushing, she finally rolled him over just enough that he flopped over onto his back. She tried to scramble off of him, but his arms wrapped around her, caging her to his chest. She squeaked, cheeks flushing, heart screaming at her that this position was not at all safe. The traitorous tags remained blissfully calm. She reached behind her, trying to move his arms away, but every time she moved one, the other would slide back into place.

“Listen, pal, I’ve just dragged your butt across my apartment. You are
not
going to start getting your strength back just in time for a bear hug.” She grasped both of his arms, and pressed them up above his head.

“Mmmmph…” he mumbled in his sleep.

“Yeah, yeah,” she grumbled in return, rolling her eyes as she slipped off of him. Standing, she kept her gaze averted, reached for the quilts on her bed and tossed them over his supine form. In her haste to scurry away from his reach, she scooted right back into corner of the kitchen counter, charlie-horsing her right butt cheek. Gasping in pain, she rubbed it, and stared down at his pale face. What now? She needed to bandage up his wounds, try to stop the bleeding. And then she needed help. But who could she turn to? He made it clear the hospital was not acceptable, but outside of Joyce, she didn’t know anyone in the area. And she wasn’t about to ask Joyce over to her apartment for advice on what to do with the naked guy on her floor. Her mother’s taunting voice surfaced in her mind.

“
You just want him to yourself. Dirty little slut!
” She quashed the thoughts like she would a cockroach under her heel. Which is to say she only scared it off to hide in a dark corner, still very much alive and echoing in her mind.

“I do
not
want to keep him to myself. I just need someone who could actually help. That’s all! Besides, he might be infected, and then what?” she growled angrily, sounding fully like a nut job. She stalked into the bathroom in search of medical supplies, nearly slipping on the mess on the floor. Then, arms full of supplies, she nearly tripped over the bathroom rug.
Wonderful
timing for her klutzy side to visit
.
Giving it a kick, she realized it wasn’t the rug, but Harley’s discarded jeans. Her frazzled brain jump started. If he had a phone, she could scroll through his contacts and see if any popped out as a likely candidate to help him. Snagging the pants with her foot, she hopped out to the bedroom dragging them along with her. Dumping the contents in her arms onto the bed, she left the pants on the floor and set about bandaging her patient.

She let her eyes rove over his body, only searching out each wound, she told herself. And there were a
lot
of wounds. His arms and chest were covered in them. She applied hydrogen peroxide to the wounds one by one, letting it bubble while she made the rounds to the other wounds. When she circled back to the original, she applied antiseptic and bandages, sizing depending on each wound. They ranged from scrapes and bruises, to deep long gashes that really should be stitched. Several of the ribs on his right side were severely blackened, and probably broken. Occasionally she had to use the tweezers to pull small chunks of metal, glass, rocks, splinters, and other debris from his skin. With each wound she mended, she found herself more confident in her work, and more curious as to just what had happened to her mysterious friend. Perhaps he really had been in a wreck? She might believe that, if many of the bruises didn’t closely resemble the shapes of hands, and the gashes far too clean to be from a wreck. She was more willing to bet he’d been in a fight with someone or something that was seriously ticked off.

As she worked, her eyes flitted over his muscular frame, skimming over his tattoos. He had two intricately knotted bands around each wrist. A closer look showed words inscribed, twisting within the beautiful cuffed bands. They were in a different language though, so she had no idea what they said. A colorful red and gold fish of some sort rested over his left pec. Two impressive tattoos ran the length of his arms. The one on the left appeared to be a scaly dragon that disappeared over the edge of his shoulder. The one on the right however, started at his bicep, and continued up to his neck, stopping just below his jaw line. It was the tattoo that seemed to scare everyone that saw it, good and bad alike. Leaning closer, she admired the incredible detail of the beast. The shading, and coloring, the tiniest details; all forming together to create the image of a savage wolf. Forcing herself away from the distraction of his ink, she moved on to finish caring for her friend.

Once the top half of him was mended, she replaced the quilts, and flipped up the bottom half. She was careful to keep the…important areas covered, her mother’s voice still echoing in her mind. Whoever came to help could examine that part of him for any wounds. She did, however, have to spend considerable time on a huge gash on his left hip. She plucked three shards of metal and countless chunks of gravel from the five inch long wound. Once it was cleaned and bandaged, she heaved a sigh, moved down his legs, dealing with a vast array of other wounds. Finished with those, she gnawed on her lip for a moment, before deciding on the best way to tend to the back of him.

Trying to be as gentle as possible she yanked on the blanket beneath him with an upward angle. Several failed attempts later, he rolled to his front with a wince-worthy thump. Averting her eyes till she covered his butt and legs with the blanket, she hoped she hadn’t made the wounds on front bleed more with the movement. She attended to the back of him as carefully as she had the front. A quick glance as she switched the positioning of the blanket confirmed that his butt was just fine. She stumbled over the wording of that thought. It was
very
fine. With an angry mental rebuke she finished her tasks. It wasn’t until she reached his calf that she froze in horror. A bite mark! A vicious and very much human mouth sized bite mark!

She scrambled away from him, grasping her skipping heart as panic surged through it. Time to find that cell phone! She slid quietly back to the pants on the floor, keeping one eye on her guest at all times. Distractedly noting there was no underwear in the pants, and making a mental note to check for the rogue undies in the bathroom later, she began digging in the pockets. No phone. The pants were covered in gashes, and she hoped that if he had a phone, it hadn’t fallen out of one of the holes. Her mind shifted to his leather jacket. Climbing to her feet, she cautiously moved past Harley, and searched the jacket. She did a goofy dance when she found it in the first pocket, wincing as her bruised butt cheek and sore muscles twinged in protest. Scrolling through the names didn’t take long. There were only three. Her eyes paused on the entry labeled
Pop
. Should she call Tandy? If she did, he wouldn’t really be able to help, and she’d needlessly worry him. But wouldn’t he want to know his son was hurt?

Biting her lip, she decided to call Tandy as a last resort, or once she knew more about Harley’s condition. She looked back to the list.
Foundation
and
Cajun
. The last name stuck with her until it dawned on her. Cajun was the name of Harley’s brother. Tandy mentioned they both came out this way years ago. A man smiled back at her in a photo as she paused over his name. He had brown hair, a bright smile, and a twinkle in his eye. She glanced down at the very blonde, very serious man on her floor, wondering if there could possibly be two men named Cajun in the same town, because this one certainly didn’t look like Harley. Pressing send, she prayed he was the right man, and still near enough to help.

“Dante, where are you mate? Been calling you for hours.” A strong, decidedly Aussie accented voice greeted her. “Charleen wants to have you over for some barbie.” Amiel paused, cautious. He had a heavy Australian accent and had said
Dante
not Harley. This couldn’t possibly be the right guy. There was silence on the other end of the phone while she mulled over her response.

“Hellooo? Dingo got your tongue? Alright, alright, I get it. Harley. Is that better?” He laughed into the receiver at some personal joke. She perked up immediately.

“Harley, yes! I mean, this isn’t Harley, but…Um, this is Cajun, right? His brother Cajun, I mean?” she asked, stupidly. The silence on the other end of the phone this time was heavy, and even across the line she could feel the resonating suspicion and aggression on Cajun’s end.

“Who are you? Where did you get this phone?” His voice previously jovial voice was deadly, sending shivers racings across her skin.

“This is Amiel. I know your dad, Tandy. Harley’s been helping me. I’m a…friend?” The last came out as a slightly questioning squeak. Cajun’s voice turned calculating.

“Amiel. As in the bird Tandy brought over a few months ago?” The lead in her stomach lifted slightly.

“Yes! Yes, that’s me.”

“Why are you calling me? Where’s Harley.”

“
Please
tell me you live nearby?” she pleaded. “I need your help. Harley’s been hurt, and I’ve tried to help him but I don’t know what to do. He refused to go to the hospital and he was bleeding everywhere and passed out in my shower…” Cajun suddenly cut her off.