Edge of Instinct: Rabids Book 1 (40 page)

“I don’t know. I’m worried about him though. He’s been in there most of the day.” He immediately recognized her voice, something inside him simultaneously untwisting and knotting when he heard its familiar melody. She really was here, which meant he hadn’t imagined it. Which also meant he’d been cuddling her, in her apartment, freshly awoken from a Collapse. And he was naked. The story was adding up to unsettling proportions. He did
not
cuddle, clothed or naked. Amiel’s voice filtered to his sensitive ears once more, though she spoke in a low whisper. He heard no reply voice so he could only assume that she was on the phone.

“I’ve been trying to give him space, he seemed pretty upset.” She paused, listening. “Okay. I understand. I will let you know. Oh, and do you think you could bring some new clothes? The ones he had are pretty much wrecked. I washed his pants, but they are so shredded they won’t do him much good.”

He scowled, wondering who exactly she was inviting over and if he’d end up in a brawl. He knew quite a few people who would be more than eager to take a shot at him right now. He leaned further out of the door, peeking around the corner. Amiel and Harley both jumped in unison as their eyes met across the room. Harley felt an unwelcome flush come to his cheeks, knowing he’d been caught spying. A similar expression flashed across her face and she mumbled a quick goodbye on the phone before hanging it up. There was a long uncomfortable silence in the air. He cleared his throat looking for something to say. Amiel jumped, letting out a slight gasp, which caused a chain reaction spook in himself. Cringing at the ache the sudden jerking had caused in his body, he shifted awkwardly on his feet, gripping the sheet tighter. She was watching him, eyes wide but carefully averted to his shoulder. Her muscles were tensed, as though ready to run. Awareness rippled through his mind instantly. Was she afraid of him? Had he hurt her? He refrained from clearing his throat again, settling for rubbing at his neck. Her eyes cautiously watched his arm rise, studiously avoiding his gaze.

“Sorry for shoutin’ earlier, darlin’,” he spoke quietly, trying to put some warmth into his awkward tone. Her muscles relaxed and she offered him a dazzling smile that threw him off balance.

“It’s alright. Cajun told me you’d be grumpy.”

“Cajun?” She flinched slightly at his abrupt question, and he carefully lowered his tone again. “How’d y’all talk to Cajun?” Her body reacted to his softer tone once more, posture straightening, chin lifting, and eyes reflecting a cautious but stronger front. She slowly approached and held up the phone she’d been speaking on. He was slightly surprised to realize she’d been using his phone. He carefully took the phone, fingers accidentally grazing hers as he did. Her cheeks flushed and she quickly backed back to her spot, a safe distance between them.

“I didn’t know what to do when I saw the bite…” She paused, gnawing on her own lip. “I dug through your jacket and found your phone. I remembered Tandy talking about his other son Cajun, and so I took a chance and called,” she finished, voice quiet but unrepentant. He examined her a long moment, noting her tense but firm stance, the way she moved slowly, not backing down but not aggressively pushing either. She was carefully avoiding a negative response from him, while maintaining a firm presence.  His instincts gave a strange sort of stirring in the back of his mind at the sight.

“Who patched me up?” He was sure he already knew the answer to that one. It couldn’t have been one of his kind, or he’d be dead. It couldn’t have been a regular doctor for the same reason. Most Cleans wouldn’t come anywhere near him once they saw his tattoo. Which left a particularly naïve and danger prone Clean. His eyes fastened on her, waiting for her admission.

“I did.” Her softly spoken reply whispered across his senses. He shivered when his darker side seemed to rise within, squirming around as though trying to wrap itself in the caress of her words. His eyes widened, and he took a slight step back. He’d never experienced that reaction from his other side before, and it was derned right creepy. Her eyes finally shifted to meet his own, and those green depths hit him like a truck. He shifted uncomfortably, gripping the towel tighter to his waist with one hand. He felt vulnerable, and he hated it.

“So, you’re
you
now, right?” She cleared her throat as her voice cracked, and then tried again. “I mean, you’re okay?” He looked sharply back at her. This was the second time she’d said something like that. ‘
Are you you now?’
He thought back to all of the Collapses he’d seen in his time at Foundation. Those coming out of Collapse reacted vastly different. Some were crazed and dangerous to anyone around, others cowered in corners. Aside from the Change, no one had been around for Harley’s Collapses. He had to hide himself away during such times, intent on keeping himself from exposure to those who would eagerly finish him off. Which side of the spectrum of Collapse did he fall into, he wondered. Judging by her cautious demeanor now, he guessed he leaned more toward the dangerous side. He rubbed at his eyes, feeling strained.

“Yeah, I’m me. Mostly.” He paused. “Did I hurt ya, kid?”

“Oh no, not at all.” Her face brightened at his response and he felt his own insides lift. And that annoyed him just a little, too. There she goes, turning him into a wuss again. What was wrong with him? He sighed heavily, again rubbing at his eyes where a dull ache had taken permanent residence.

“Do you remember anything about what happened?” she questioned timidly, lowering her voice to a more manageable tone for his aching head. The consideration was appreciated. “Cajun said that your memory might be a little foggy for a while.”

“No. Not yet. Whatever it was it musta been a hell of a- excuse me, I mean it musta been a wild ride.” He sensed her hesitant approach, her scent washing over him like a wave. His brow creased as he drew in a deep breath of it. Something was wrong with her smell. Maybe not
wrong
, so much as just different. He looked up as she held up his trashed jeans. He ignored them, too fixated on trying to place the odd change in her scent. 

“Here’s your pants. They’re pretty ripped up, but they are clean and probably more comfortable than that sheet. I tried to stitch them up a bit, but I’m not really a seamstress.” She offered a nervous giggle. “I, uh, couldn’t find your underwear. It must have gotten shoved back under the cabinets or something. I will have to look around better for them later.”

‘Don’t bother, ya won’t find any,” he replied distractedly. Her brow crunched in confusion, then rose, mouth opening in a wide “O” when she caught his meaning. Her cheeks flushed and she grabbed a strand of hair, twisting it back and forth under his intense stare.

“Oh. Right. I…”

“What’s different about your scent?” he interrupted, instincts driving him crazy with their buzzing. He leaned in suddenly, led entirely by his Hybrid’s need to understand the difference.

“You talk about my smell a lot lately,” she murmured, voice unsteady as his nose skimmed along the delicate skin at her neck.

“Do I?” he replied vaguely, fixated on finding his answer.

“Yes.” Harley noticed distantly that her reply was breathless, and she shivered with each intake of his breath against her skin. It taunted a strange sort of victory to rise within him, one that confused him in its being welcomed and unwanted all at once. Her scent was warm and inviting as always, though something in it felt wild and forbidden. Layered over top of it was a new, yet familiar musky tone. A fraction of the puzzle shifted then, and his instincts jerked in reaction, taking him off guard. He pulled back quickly, searching her visible skin with his eyes.

“I can smell my blood on ya.” The hushed and gruff words were out of his mouth before he could think them through, or how they would sound. Heaven damn him but his tone had made it sound as though it were a good thing. Her scent shifted as their eyes met, moving toward what revealed less fear than it should have, and a lot more of something dark and dangerously alluring. Her eyes remained locked with his, pupils slightly dilated. What was wrong with him? Why had he leaned in and so deliberately smelled her like a Christmas ham? He was lucky she didn’t slap him. Or stab him. Despite clearing his throat, Harley’s tone stayed dark and rough as he took a few steps back, hoping the distance would clear his head. “Y’all should wash it off real quick. It ain’t safe havin’ it on ya.”

“Not safe?” He clenched his teeth at her innocent question, suddenly feeling the strange and uncomfortable sensation of shame and degradation for who he was. When he made no effort to answer, she looked him firmly in the eyes, quietly reassuring him. “Don’t worry. I scrubbed it all off in the shower yesterday while you slept, and I washed my clothes, too. Any of your blood that was on me is long gone.” Harley frowned, wondering how the scent of his blood was still embedded within her skin, when it should have been washed clean by now.

“Maybe you’re smelling the blood on your bandages.” Her soft smile stalled out as her eyes fell to his chest. “Gosh.” The word was almost reverent. “Your wounds- how…” She stopped speaking as though she didn’t know how to finish. His skin flinched slightly as Amiel’s fingertips brushed across his left pec, just to the side of the koi fish tattoo. Her warm fingertips slid along the skin where a three inch gash was in the process of healing over already. Shivering sensations flowed across his skin where she touched. Senses still in overdrive from the Collapse, he felt every tiny hair her skin smoothed across.

“Harley.” Her voice was full of awe, leaning closer as her eyes tracked along behind the trail of her fingertips. “You got these wounds two days ago. How is it possible that they are already nearly healed?” He gripped her hand before it could continue its progress, senses too over loaded to withstand more. Though for some unknown reason, rather than pushing it away he did little more than halt its progress, trapping it between his heart and hand. Her eyes flew upward to meet his, surprise and curiosity in their emerald depths. He lost himself in those eyes. The air supercharged around them, further heightening every sensation crowding through his head.

“It’s best ya don’t know, kid.” His tone was low and gruff, though even he could hear the edge of begging held within it. He didn’t want her to know.

“I’ve been trying so hard to wait patiently for answers these last two very long days, Harley. Cajun promised you would give them to me when you were well.” Her reply wasn’t snotty or pushy, simply an answer to his unspoken plea, a request for a return in trust. He struggled under the weight of those green doe eyes, struggled under the trust they simultaneously gave and yearned to receive. A part of him wanted to shy away from that gaze, to turn and never look back. He wasn’t used to the amount of challenge held in holding a simple innocent exchange of gazes. Among his kind, to meet and hold a gaze was either a promise of violence, or an act of sheer trust held amongst only the closest of Hybrids. Even Harley and Cajun rarely held eye contact for long. It all came down to intent, something that was usually easily digested and expressed by their instincts. His instincts knew she wasn’t challenging him or threatening him. Yet somehow the amount of trust she was asking for was far more intimidating.

Looking into her eyes, something shifted in his mind. Memories trickled in, memories of Amiel leaning over him with a sweet smile, cleaning his wounds, gently placing blankets on his exposed skin, feeding him. He looked at her bare feet, remembering his hand clasping her small foot as he drifted to sleep. And memories of her eyes as she examined his tattoos. He’d asked her then, what she was looking at. His consciousness had pushed to the surface of the Collapse just enough to feel protective of his nature and her opinion of it. He was so used to people taking one look at his tattoo and running away in disgust and fear. Or taking it as a challenge for a fight to prove their strength and bravery. He’d waited for her reaction, the inner darkness hovering below the surface, waiting for the answer that would prove its justification in not trusting her with its truth. She’d looked him straight in the eye and given him an honest answer.
You
. He shivered now at the memory, looking back to meet with those deep trusting eyes.

“Please. I would really like to know more about my friend.” That simple whispered phrase undid him, making it impossible to hold back any longer. His lips separated intent on sharing some of his most carefully guarded secrets. A knock suddenly came at the door making them both jump, turning to stare at the wood as though it would tell them who stood outside. Amiel glanced back to him, a timid smile in place that clearly said that she hoped this wouldn’t be the end of the conversation. Gently exchanging his pants for her hand against his heart, she turned and headed for the door. Swallowing hard, Harley moved into the bathroom to put the jeans on, keeping the door ajar. Technically he had no right to listen in on who was at her door, but instinctually speaking there was no evading the need to protect. If anything the need to protect her seemed to have doubled in intensity from what he could remember it being prior to the Collapse.

Again a shiver shattered across his skin as the look in her eyes, the simple word she spoke, replayed in his mind.
“You.”
She didn’t see savage ink markings that called him out for what he was made to be, marking him so that every stranger would know to flee in distress. She didn’t see a mark worthy of disgust and hatred or fear. She saw something that was only an extension of who he was, not something that defined him. She saw
him
.