Instinct Ascending: Rabids Book 2 (9 page)

“Well! What did you find?” a distant voice shouted.

“It’s here somewhere! It has to be. Maybe it jumped to another roof,” Duane grumbled in reply. Frustrated shouts immediately came back his way.

“If you’re thinking about tossing my dogs across the rooftops, I’ll kick your ass!” There was a long pause.

“It’s up here, I
know
it is.”

“You know what? Screw you, Duane. I’m tired and cold. You want to keep looking, freeze your own ass off. We’re going home.” A long whistle sounded, and the dogs barked, quickly obeying their owner’s call to return. Duane cursed to himself, clearly disliking the idea that they’d taken away his backup. Amiel closed her eyes, fighting to keep her breathing calm as she listened and waited.

“Damn it. I’m not done with you, freak! You and I got unfinished business,” Duane promised the darkness, clearly knowing she was still around somewhere, but having lost his backbone with his backup. The rooftop door slammed as he left.    

Amiel stared up at the stars, their glimmering surfaces marred by the puffs of mist from her shaky breath. She stared until she was forced to blink, tears slipping down her temples and into her hair. The adrenaline ebbed away, and with its loss came everything else she’d been ignoring. The cold night air seeped into her bones, wracking her body with jerky shivers that jarred her to the core. With the jerking movements came the pain: her fingers throbbed with each pulse; the ribs on her side screamed with burning intensity.

A sob escaped her lips and she bit down, once more opening the earlier wound in her mouth. How much time had passed since the men left? Had it been hours, like it felt, or only minutes? She found herself frozen with more than just the cold. Fear kept her rigidly in place; despite the cold, despite the near-unbearable pain, Amiel couldn’t move. She lay there shaking in her bra and pajama pants, gravel digging into her battered and broken body, blood seeping through the rags on her fingers, dripping in rivulets from other wounds on her body.

One fact kept repeating in her head. She’d nearly died. She had nearly died, half-naked in the darkness-enshrouded streets, and she had no idea what had led her to this moment in time. She had found herself bloodied, with shredded clothes, sprawled on the ground. Her bike was crushed beneath a bus; there was a pile of dead Rabids nearby, and distant, angry shouts of humans who made it very clear that they wanted her dead.

Her frazzled, foggy mind had tried to run through every self-defense move taught to her by Harley… and come up completely blank. Amiel could remember only a debilitating sense of conflict, a battle being waged within that left her staring dumbly at the blurry men that prowled toward her with menace in their hearts. And in the face of the one enemy that she found herself defenseless against, Amiel had run for her life.

Over the last few months, Amiel had felt herself growing in courage, confidence and strength. She sucked at fighting still, she knew that. But she had hoped if push came to shove, her instincts would kick in and she could protect herself. Yet when the time came to put those new skills to use, Amiel found herself shrinking, lost and terrified. And so, like the coward she apparently still was, Amiel ran. She ran and hid, just like she was still doing now. She was freezing, half naked on a rooftop, one of the greatest weapons known to humankind hanging around her neck, and she was hiding like a complete wuss, afraid the men would come back to finish the job. 

Self-loathing and anger rose to the surface, lending more force behind the flow of tears and her body’s shaking. She should get off of this rooftop; she should find out what had happened to her jacket, her bike, find a phone and call for help. Something,
anything
but what she was doing now. Yet she didn’t, for so many complicated and stupid reasons. Because she didn’t know if the men were still out there. Because she didn’t know where to start. Because she had no idea what had happened before the moment with the Rabids, no idea where she was.

And mostly because she was afraid of finding the answers, facing the most frightening fact of all: this hadn’t been just another blackout exorcist episode. The last clear memory she held resided in her apartment. Amiel closed her eyes, a ragged sob escaping her bleeding lips. She’d done it all in her sleep.

Harley

Harley stared at the clock, gnawing on one fingernail. Realizing what he was doing, he yanked the nail from his mouth, quickly grabbing a piece of gum and munching on that instead.

The kid was late. She’d been late several times over the last few weeks, which seemed out of character for her. He’d pegged her as the type that hated being late for anything, almost like it was programmed into her DNA. But in the last few weeks she’d started showing up fifteen, twenty minutes late. Today it was forty. Maybe she’d decided to just skip it and concentrate on work? Only, if she had, the kid probably would have texted to let him know. And she had promised that she wouldn’t be late anymore…

Harley picked up his phone, which he’d already looked at more often than he’d care to admit in the last fifteen minutes. The screen was blank — no new messages or calls. His eyes returned to the clock, once again facing his internal dilemma. What was the course of action here? Did he call her to double-check? Friends did that, right? Or maybe he should just drive by and see if her bike was gone, so he didn’t call and sound like a complete creeper? He frowned. He wouldn’t sound like one, but he’d sure look like one.

Sighing in frustration, Harley tossed the phone back on the counter. This babysitting gig with Amiel was getting more complicated. One would think, after doing it for so long, he would start to get the hang of it. Instead, he found himself tripping over new dilemmas, complications growing rather than diminishing. Was he smothering her with protectiveness? He tried to ensure that he gave her a respectful distance so that his presence didn’t overwhelm or crush the delicate freedom allowed in this world. But, at times, he wondered if that was the wrong choice. Because in this world, a single misstep could lead to your death, and there was no coming back from dying. 

Running a hand through his hair, he shifted his accursed eyes back to the clock. Releasing a disgusted grunt, he turned his back on it. He was turning into such a wuss. He hated having to stalk the kid, but truthfully, it was easier to be in the shadows than to actually weather the inner workings of relationships he knew nothing about.

Bowing his head, he immediately took the thought back. No matter the complications of his social ineptitude, he’d never take back the friendship he’d garnered with her. He felt his eyes burning to turn and look at the clock again. The phone suddenly rang, saving him from the clock. Lunging for it, he quickly answered.

“Harley,” he stated gruffly.

“We got a problem, Harl.” Cajun’s voice came back to Harley over the phone, and an itch of unease immediately came over him.

“What now?”

“Is your bird there with you?” The unease grew.

“No. She’s late.”

“Uhh.” Cajun hesitated. “Charleen just found Amiel’s bike, crushed under a bus on the outer fringe of the Skirts.”

“What the hell?” Harley nearly choked.

“When Char found it, she called the guards at the apartments, hoping they could give us a clue as to how the bike got out here…” He cleared his throat. “They haven’t seen her since last night, mate. They said she flew out of the apartment complex on her bike in nothing but a t-shirt and pajama pants.”

Harley hung up, bounding down the stairs with Hell’s fires on his heels. He tried calling her cellphone, the restaurant, and came up empty-handed. He reached Charleen and Cajun’s location in record time, easily finding their scents. His heart fell to his feet when his eyes zeroed in on the crumpled mess of Rabid bodies, and the twisted metal beneath the bus.

Harley closed his eyes, senses filtering out everything but the one thing he craved: Amiel’s scent. He found it, but it was too faint to follow. Clearly she’d been out here, but enough time had passed since then that, had his nose not been so attuned to the scent, he would have missed it entirely. He walked toward the bike, examining what he could see of it and the bus for any signs. The fender of the bus held a smear of blood that smelled of Amiel. His Hybrid rose to the surface, antsy anticipation growing with each drop of blood Harley found.

Marks in the dirt and gravel showed signs of what could have been multiple scuffles. Granted, there was a pile of Rabids on the ground, which was likely where those markings came from. The bloodied helmet lying nearby left no doubt as to how the Rabids had died. He walked to the pile, examining what was left of the mess that had clearly already been picked apart by scavengers, Rabid and animal alike. His eyes shifted from the massacre, back to the bus. Amiel had killed these Rabids, then someone driving that bus had run over Amiel’s bike and obviously hurt her in the process, based on the blood on the fender.

Standing, Harley approached the bus, darkly intent on finding evidence as to who was going to pay for running her over. The doors were mostly closed still, trapping more clues in the air than there were outside. Shoving the doors open wider, Harley drew a deep breath.

Clean. The scent was all Clean, and all too familiar. His teeth set on edge. An image of Amiel’s frightened face as she lay beneath the Cutthroat, months earlier, rose in his mind, instantly fueling his two sides into agreement of worry and fury. He felt his eyes shifting to reflect his darker nature, responding to his inner thoughts of vengeance. He turned back to his companions, and their eyes shifted in response to his. The air was heavy with the primal force one would expect to feel amongst a wolf pack just before the hunt.

“Fan out,” Harley grunted to his brother and soon-to-be sister-in-law. They nodded, Charleen not even flinching at the command. Clearly, she was just as determined to find the girl as he was. Without another word they spread out, the hunt on. Not five minutes later, Cajun’s text buzzed on Harley’s phone.

“Blood.”

Immediately Harley zoned in on him, following his brother’s scent until he ended up in a long, grimy alleyway. Cajun pointed toward one of the walls, where small fingerprints of blood lay against the rust-colored bricks. If it weren’t for their keen eyesight, it would have been easily overlooked.

“It’s too old; I can’t get a read on the scent,” Cajun supplied, leaving it to Harley’s senses to try to determine the ownership of the DNA, as he texted Charleen to join them. Harley pressed his nose near the blood, drawing deep.

“It’s hers.” His voice was gritty, weighed down with the certainty of that knowledge. He stalked along the alleyway, picking up every clue on the way. Charleen joined them just as they came to a dead end.

“They had dogs,” she stated, with a growl of disapproval. Hybrids hated animals, and animals hated them. It was a naturally born hate as ingrained as breathing.

Harley zoned in on the dumpster, its odd angle and the conspicuously dented corner drawing him in. His fingers slid across dark tracks along the metal. The hairs on his body stood on end as he followed the streaked finger trails, evidence of someone pulling themselves upward. A small shred of dark fabric lay on the lid, also smelling of Amiel. A smear of blood and skin lay on the dented corner, and his heart dropped. It dropped further when he saw the small pool of blood on the pavement, and the accompanying torn fingernails left on the ground nearby. His hands shook. It was a dead end; there was blood everywhere and torn fingernails, the scent clearly marking it as Amiel’s. Yet there was no Amiel.

“She’s gone,” he muttered. “The trail ends here. He had to have taken her.” The Cutthroat was gonna die.

“Wait, look at that windowsill,” Charleen whispered in awe. “Is that what I think it is?” 

Harley followed her gaze, rising without conscious effort to do so. There, above his head on the second-story, barred windowsill, were two distinct handprints in blood. Blood, and a single torn fingernail barely visible on the sill.

“She jumped up there?” Cajun guessed, voice disbelieving. “How is that possible? I mean, I know the tags give her skills, but that much of a leap for an injured Clean?”

Harley took a step back, reevaluating the area with new eyes.

“She used the dumpster, jumped to the window…” Harley’s gaze shifted until it landed on the fire escape. He turned toward Charleen with a questioning expression. Charleen nodded.

“It fits. She climbed on the dumpster, jumped to the windowsill, and then tried to jump to the fire escape. She fell.” She pointed at the dent in the dumpster, and Harley cringed. How could the kid survive something like that? “Bounced off it and rolled to a stop here.” Charleen crouched at the pooled blood on the ground, picking up one of the fingernails. “She lost some nails when she grabbed the windowsill. Somehow she got back up, climbed back onto the dumpster and jumped again. That’s where the bloody hand prints come into play on the windowsill up there.” Char shrugged. “Either she made it to the fire escape that time, or they took her.”

“Strewth.” Cajun shook his head in disbelief. “How is any of that possible? I don’t mean to doubt you, babe, but she left a hell of a crater in the dumpster. How could a Clean walk away from that, much less pull a second round of Spidey tricks?”

Harley stared at the fire escape, mind reeling.

“She’s no ordinary Clean. And let us not forget the powering aid of adrenaline. Human history is full of amazing deeds done while filled with adrenaline,” Charleen reminded her fiancé.

“Sure, but she’s not superhuman,” Cajun challenged.

“I am telling you what I see. Take it or leave it, Cajun, but it is what it is.” Her voice left little doubt as to which he should choose if he were smart. Harley’s fists clenched.

“If there is even an ounce of possibility, I’m gonna find it.”

Cajun sighed, nodding in agreement.

“All right, then. Let’s see if we can find another way up there. I’m no Kanga, so jumping that high isn’t going to happen.”

Harley nodded stiffly, and they immediately set about their search.It wasn’t long before they found the broken-down door, and the steps that led upward to the roof. The smell of dog was stronger in here, reminding them that animals had been in on the hunt. Harley bounded up the stairs, two at a time, until he burst onto the roof. He immediately ran toward the fire escape, knees feeling weak when he saw the bloodied smears.

“Stone the crows! She did it. She actually did it,” Cajun remarked at Harley’s side.

“But where did she go after she got up here?” Charleen replied, tone curious and oddly proud-sounding. No doubt Cajun would be in for an earful later about doubting her instincts.

“There.” Harley pointed to the roof across the way. They both turned to look at him.

“There?” Cajun frowned, tone doubtful once more. “Well… I guess it’s not too much further than the leap for the fire escape.”

“If she made it this far, she could make it there,” Harley argued stubbornly. Setting his jaw, Harley took off across the rooftop, gaining speed as he ran. He felt that momentary dip in his gut as he leapt: the dip that came with a rush of adrenaline as he took a big risk. The sky had darkened significantly since they’d begun their search, and flying across the dark alley below was somewhat unsettling. He thudded into the wall, grimacing as the wind escaped his lungs, but his grip on the ledge remained sure. Pulling himself upward, he threw a leg over the ledge. Immediately his eyes found Amiel, heart stopping as he took in her appearance.

“I found her!” Harley shouted, rushing to her side. He flinched when his skin came into contact with hers, the flesh chilled beyond safe levels. “No, no, no,” he whispered, fingers swiftly lifting to find her pulse, ear lowering to listen for breath. He waited for what felt like an eternity before the faint puff of air stirred across his cheek, the barely-there pulse throbbed beneath his fingers. Releasing a sigh of relief, Harley turned toward his companions across the roof.

“Cajun, go get your car and meet us downstairs! We have to get her somewhere safe and warm, fast!”

Cajun nodded, turning to sprint down the stairs, Charleen on his heels. Harley crunched down on a nail, debating the best way to get her downstairs.

Her torso was covered in black and blue bruising from collarbone to navel. Her shirt had clearly been ripped to form the bandages around her fingers, ebbing the bleeding but leaving the rest of her more vulnerable to hypothermia. Yanking off his jacket, he laid it across her frozen body, trying to warm her up as best he could.

“Harley?” The sound was faint, like a whisper on the breeze. He looked down in surprise, Amiel’s eyes staring back up at him through slits. He leaned closer, trying to ignore the way those eyes looked right now; in the encroaching darkness, they appeared larger than usual, and overfilled with black rather than her usual emerald.

“Hey, kid.” He grinned softly, lightly running a thumb across her cheek.

“I’m so tired,” she replied shakily. Harley nodded, resolve solidifying.

“Hold tight, kid. I gotta carry ya down, and you’re hurt pretty bad. Ya gotta be tough and hold on for me, okay?”

Amiel blinked drowsily in what he took for her subtle agreement. Trying to be as gentle as possible, Harley slipped his hands beneath her, pulling her into his arms. Her body was surprisingly stiff, not immediately conforming to his hold.

She didn’t make a sound, not a cry of pain or even a moan of discomfort. And somehow, based on the amount of damage he saw, that silence scared him more than anything. When he finally managed to grip her in what he hoped was a comfortable position, he quickly moved toward the roof entry door. He had to kick it open, wincing as it jarred them both.