Edge of Instinct: Rabids Book 1 (39 page)

She was just placing the last Styrofoam dish of fish in the fridge when she heard a noise behind her. Slowly spinning around, her eyes went wide when she saw Harley slumped against the wall, staring at her with vacant eyes. Her face flushed and she looked away quickly. At least she now knew he had no injuries in other area’s that she’d been too modest to check earlier. Blinking, she fought to remember what Cajun had said. Was Harley supposed to be up and moving around already? Cajun made it sound like he’d be passed out on the floor for days, except to slurp food out of containers like a dog. He’d not said a thing about him getting up and walking around!

Swallowing, she slowly turned back to Harley, focusing on his face. He was swaying in exhaustion, face still pale. A few of his bandages were seeping through. Yet he didn’t seem to be entirely aware of what he was doing. Maybe it was cue time for the food, she thought. Moving slowly, she grabbed a few trays of food she’d just placed in the fridge then headed toward Harley. The moment she neared him, his eyes snapped upward, fixing on her face. She fought the urge to run, realizing that Cajun hadn’t been entirely joking about that comment. Harley’s pupils were dilated so far that only a rim of blue remained. And though he looked right at her, the lights weren’t on. Still, she could feel some amount of awareness staring back at her. Whether it was nice Harley, or crazy Harley, she was about to find out.

“Harley?” she whispered. His head cocked to the side in a sharp movement that reminded her of a lizard eyeing its prey. Swallowing hard, she remembered the pointer Cajun had given her about
not talking
. Instead, she lifted the tray of fish then cautiously backed toward the blankets he’d abandoned. He watched her steadily, but didn’t move to follow. Reaching the desired spot she carefully knelt, placing the food and two Gatorades she’d grabbed, on the floor. Careful not to make swift movements she broke open the thin plastic wrapping on the raw trays of foods, and moved on to the Gatorades. She was in the process of cracking the seal on the second drink when she sensed his nearness. She hadn’t even heard him move. Slowly lifting her eyes, she came face to face with his waist.

Holy Goshness! s
he gasped mentally, quickly averting her eyes. For being such a private and antisocial guy in normal everyday life, zonked out Harley sure didn’t have a problem with wandering around in the buff. He stood in his statue mode for a long moment, only feet away from her. It was a long uncomfortable silence, and she was beginning to wonder what she’d have to do next to get him to lay back down. He solved the problem when he collapsed on the floor, limbs shaking. She breathed a sigh of relief, drawing his gaze once more. Wincing, she slowly lifted a tray of fish, scooting it closer to him. She was careful to avoid eye contact with him, still fairly creeped out by that intense and not entirely all there stare. One by one she slowly pushed all the trays of food closer to him, the Gatorades coming last.

Not knowing what else to do, she sat down fully, pulling her knees to her chest, eyes carefully aimed straight downward at her feet. She nearly jumped out of her skin when his hand moved to grasp her foot. His skin was ice cold, but his grip was gentle. She stared at his pale hand unsure what she should do, when it moved away and started digging into the food instead. She kept staring at her feet, not wanting to see him ripping into raw fish and the other foods that were sure to make her queasy. He ate for a solid fifteen minutes, not leaving a speck of food in the containers. She wondered if that meant she should get him more, but he laid back down, not moving.

After a few moments, she risked a glance his way. His eyes were closed and he appeared to be sleeping. Quietly gathering the trays into a pile, she gathered her courage, too, and moved closer. Lifting the blankets in shaking hands, she carefully slid the fabric across his skin, gently tucking it in around him. With a small smile she glanced toward his face and froze. He was staring at her steadily, an almost curious expression held in those wide dark depths. And then he blinked, and closed his eyes.

That simple action did something strange and miraculous to her. Her muscles relaxed, her lungs no longer feeling entirely confined in a space too small for them. She had no idea why, but what he had just done gave her a feeling that he was showing her an almost intimate depth of trust. Likely he wasn’t even aware of what he’d just done, or he simply didn’t care that she was there. But she couldn’t shake the feeling that something big had just gone down. Grabbing up the foam plates, she quietly made her way out of the room.

From that moment on, Amiel carefully watched the clock, bringing food and drink in for Harley ten minutes before the two hour mark. Each time she would carefully lay out the food, remove the coverings or skins, depending on what food he would be eating this time, and then sit back to wait. The moment the food was uncovered in front of him, his eyes would open wide, watching her every move. He’d eat his food, then lay back down. She’d give him a few moments to fall back asleep, before gathering the leftover plates and readjusting his blankets. He had the unerring ability to lose those blankets. Each time she’d smile a small smile as the fabric was tucked close. Each time he’d watch her, then shut his eyes and drift back into unconsciousness. This pattern continued consistently over the next twenty four hours. She’d occasionally find herself nodding off sitting on the floor, only to wake with Harley’s hand resting on her foot.

When thirty hours had passed, and Amiel was moving the blankets back into their position, her tired eyes drifted to land on Harley’s tattoos. She glanced toward him, finding his eyes closed. Biting her lip, she allowed herself a closer look. She had been right; it was a dragon that wrapped around his arm, shoulder, and across his shoulder blades. Whoever his tattoo artist was, their work was amazingly realistic. The dragon appeared to be scaling across Harley’s back, climbing to sneak up on its enemy, the wolf. Its scales were a beautiful medley of black, red, blue, and gold. Its mouth was open wide in a grimace that revealed a forked tongue, and hundreds of sharp teeth. The wolf faced away from the Dragon as though it were not the least bit afraid of the larger mythical creature. It too snarled, even having bloody drool dripping from its teeth and jowls. The ink was so detailed and beautiful, one could almost imagine the creatures leaping from his back at any moment. Yet the most arresting features were the eyes of the wolf. While the eyes of the dragon seemed angry, and purposeful, the eyes of the wolf were savage, blood thirsty, and crazed.

She leaned closer, spellbound, heart beating a tad faster as she pressed her fingertips lightly to the ink. His breathing stopped, the muscles beneath her touch gone hard. Her gaze instinctively shifted to find blue eyes just as wild as the creatures, staring right back at her. She fought to remain calm though her heart was leaping into her throat. Had she pressed his docility too far? His hand shot out, grasping her wrist. Her breathing escalated, and she fought to remain calm. The grip was firm, though thankfully not painful.

“What do you see?” he asked quietly, voice deep and gruff.

“You,” she stuttered quietly, face flushing for being caught and not entirely sure about her answer. He stared at her for a moment longer, before his eyes drifted shut again. She sighed a silent breathe of relief, and shifted to move away. She jerked to a halt, wrist still held firm in his grip. She looked back to his waiting gaze. His eyes were still dilated, but they held no malice, nothing that brought her fear. She gave her wrist a tiny tug, asking him with her eyes to let it go. He held her gaze, answering with a gentle tug of his own.

“Stay.” She swallowed hard, feeling as though she were suddenly standing on the precipice of a cliff in the dark. A step in one direction or the other would prove life changing, but which way was best, she couldn’t say. She went with her gut instinct. Ever so slowly she lowered down onto the ground facing Harley, with only about a foot between them. Once settled, she closed her eyes. His gentle but firm grip on her wrist let up, and he moved to grasp her hand in a gentle consoling gesture, like that of a child with its mother. A soft smile graced her lips, pulling the corners upward. She kept her eyes closed, content to simply lie like this for a few moments.

But a few moments had apparently turned into hours when Amiel opened her eyes to find she’d fallen asleep and slept the entire night away. Brain still groggy, she didn’t immediately understand the position she found herself in, contentedly squirming further into her warm blanket. Until she felt a nose nuzzling her neck. Eyes flying wide, she took stock of the fact that she was laying nestled up against Harley, who was spooning up against her back. His arm was wrapped protectively around her waist, holding her close, his nose currently pressed just below her ear. She held perfectly still, mind rushing through all the scenarios leading up to how exactly she’d ended up this way. Then she remembered falling asleep on the floor with him holding her hand. Sometime in the night one of them must have shifted, cuddled up to the other, leaving them in their current position. The question was, who did it and was Harley awake or was his alter ego using her for a teddy bear. The nose nestled deeper, drawing in a deep breath of her neck. Butterfly wings shattered across her skin as the hand around her waist flatted to her stomach, pressing her closer to him as his nose continued its explorations. Despite her best intentions to remain alert and unresponsive, her eyes drifted shut when his lips pressed to her overly sensitive skin. Suddenly Harley froze, entire body stiff at her back, and she reacted in kind. His face withdrew, and when he spoke there was a very sane, very panicked tone to his voice.

“Amiel?”   

Harley

Amiel went stiff in his arms.
In his arms
. Harley squeezed his eyes shut, knowing he must be dreaming. With the world spinning in his head it was difficult to get his bearings. Opening one eye he glanced down, reevaluating the situation. Amiel looked up at him with a wincing sort of smile, as though unsure of the situation herself. Harley jerked to his feet, stumbling sideways as the world shifted on him.

“What…” He ground his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut at the pain in his ears, caused by his own voice. Trying in vain to blink away the blurriness in his vision and mind, he held onto the soft object at his side for stability. He stared down at it, fighting for clarity. It was a bed. He went into a panic mode all over again. What was going on? Where was he?

“Harley?” Her tentative voice brought his focus back to her, where she lay poised as though ready to flee, though she carefully avoided looking at him. “Is it
you
you, or still the
other
you?” Her question made no sense, echoing through his ears in a way that seemed to pound on every nerve ending he owned. He grasped his head trying to alleviate some of the pain but failing.

“What are ya talkin’ about woman? What the hell’s happenin’?” A draft wafted across his backside sending a fresh wave a panic through his veins as he looked down. “Where the hell are my clothes!” He yanked the nearest form of protection to cover himself, which turned out to be the sheets on the bed. He fumbled with them trying to yank them into a suitable position to cover the important bits. He glared at her, feeling somehow this whole matter must be her fault. Not that she noticed, holding a hand over her eyes, shielding them from his predicament. The fact that she wasn’t looking helped to calm the edge of darkness raging within, but that was about all it helped. His legs were weak and shaky, threatening to buckle beneath him at any moment. His stomach wasn’t far behind, especially with the way the world kept tipping around.

“Uh, yeah, funny story that.” She paused, her bottom lip pouting into a frown, just visible beneath her hand. “Well, no, actually there was really nothing funny about it. Let me start over.” He stumbled to the side, grabbing his head once more. Her prattling was killing his head.

“Stop! Just…please stop.” He groaned, eyes searching the room for an escape. His stuttering vision fell on a partially open door at his back, the gap revealing what looked like a sink. He stumbled toward the door eagerly shutting it behind him, praying she wouldn’t follow as he slid down the wood to slump on the floor. He sat there for what felt like an eternity in hell, ears ringing shrilly, vision shivering side to side, stomach rebelling as scents bombarded him from all sides. His hands gripped at his hair and he rocked back and forth, teeth gritting, muscles twitching and jerking uncontrollably.

At some point in the torture, he must have passed out. When he pried his eyes open, the world around him no longer shook, though the light still caused him to wince. The sounds around him were still far too loud, but they no longer caused his head to shatter with each tone. Smells were still strong, but not overpowering. His head was a jumbled mess as it tried desperately to sort through every incoming sensation, and what they meant. It reminded him of the excruciating pains and confusion he’d encountered during the Change. Which meant he had Collapsed for some reason. This also meant he would have to start all over, recalibrate every sense and readjust accordingly, before he could focus on anything around him. It was hardly the first time he’d encountered this situation, but it was disorienting and terrifying each time. He fought for clarity, struggling to receive even a sliver, just enough to start fixing things.

He took deep breaths, filling his body with much needed oxygen, cycling out the bad air, bringing in the good, feeding his cramping muscles with it. As he breathed, he slowly slipped into a trance, focusing on one sense at a time. His ears seemed the worst off so he worked on them first. It took a lot of concentration and flailing about in his mind each time a wave of panic rolled over him, consuming him. His mind and body didn’t know how to internalize what was wrong with him, and his Hybrid side didn’t like the feeling of vulnerability. It all clashed together to cause chaos. Eventually he was able to break through that chaos, pushing the terror to the edges of his mind where he could better ignore it.

He envisioned his ears, the way they were meant to look internally, envisioned them working properly, remembered the way everything in memory was supposed to sound and used that base for reformatting the way they translated sound now. Finally he was able to tone down the sounds to a somewhat normal range, separate them out and push them to the sides of his consciousness. His balance shifted as well. As long as he didn’t move his head too quickly, the world no longer bounced around like a Chihuahua on drugs. They were far from perfect, but he left the rest of the ear work for later. They were ultra sensitive, and it was too overwhelming to do more now without consequences that he didn’t want to pay.

Scent was next, taste coming naturally along with it. It was insanely annoying trying to breathe the way his body required during this process, when the scents of the world around him assaulted him left and right. Practically being able to taste everything around him with each breath was overwhelming. He mentally shifted through his options, tweaking something here or there until he could breathe easier. The scents were still heavy around him, a few in particular, but he ignored them and moved on. The goal was to get himself fixed up as quickly as possible, so that he could better assess the situation he was in. He could finish the finer details when he was in a more secure position.

Next were his eyes, the easiest sense of them all to repair so far. The glitching in his vision quickly melded into one solid picture, colors vibrant and true. He sat back, taking deep calming breaths, preparing himself for what would come next. The last step would be easier to reactivate than the other senses, but much more painful. The moment his sense of touch was fixed, whatever abuse he’d suffered would be brought directly to the forefront of his mind. He couldn’t remember what had brought him to this point, wasn’t willing to even try remembering for now. But based on the extensive damage to his other senses, it was going to hurt like hell letting the pain back in.

He crouched down, taking several quick breaths, mentally hyping himself up to bear the pain to come. With one final breath he allowed the flood gate of sensations to press forward. He grunted in pain as each and every wound made themselves known, rushing to the surface of his mind with sudden clarity, each new nerve ending exploding with pain. His ears burned red hot with pain, eyes aching, throat burning, skin on fire. Gasping he tipped forward, hands pressed to the cool tile, arms shaking with the effort to hold him up under the agony. In a way, recovery after Collapsing was a more painful process than the actual harm you suffered in the first place.

In Harley’s line of work wounds were obtained during situations flooded with adrenaline and his darker side’s aggression. His body immediately compensated and covered the pain in a way that allowed him to continue thinking and fighting, surviving. The Collapse came when these wounds were extensive enough that his instincts shoved him under the surface of consciousness in an effort to maintain and sustain whilst repairing. All senses were put on survival instincts only, being used when needed but ignored otherwise. They were put on hold and isolated until he could surface and readjust his newly healed body. It had been a difficult lesson to learn the first time it happened, but one that had been repeated often enough to become nearly second nature now. Second nature or not, it still hurt like hell.

Gasping, Harley gripped the counter, pulling himself to his feet. He avoided looking in the mirror for now, eyes shifting around in search of the toilet instead. With renewed sensation came the knowledge that it had been some time since he’d used the bathroom. While in Collapse the body took what sustenance it could, then broke it down to the barest amounts, using every ounce possible before discarding leftovers. Hybrids could go days without having to use the bathroom under these circumstances. But when they awoke, well, nature let them know it was done being ignored and they just had to hope they were close to a bathroom.

Stumbling toward the toilet, he relieved himself, noting with a grimace that a large amount of it contained old blood. He filed that away, adding internal bleeding to the slow list of injuries that he was gathering. Washing his hands, he cupped some of the cool water and gently pressed it to the hyper sensitive skin along his neck and face. Leaning shakily against the counter, he finally allowed himself to look in the mirror. As always, it took a moment for his brain to recognize the face staring back at him. After a Collapse, faces took a few minutes to register in the brain’s internal memory bank, even his own. Scars, shading, textures, they all seemed to take on a new life of their own, appearing more noticeable or less so than they had before a Collapse.

He paused, thinking back to waking to Amiel’s face. It had been a vivid and crisp image, not a single doubt in his frazzled mind as to who she was, and what she looked like. Which was just kind of screwed up, considering he couldn’t even recognize himself right away. He bunched his shoulders, rolling them uncomfortably. Of course all of this was based on the assumption that she had actually been there, and wasn’t just part of the delusional world he’d spent the last however long floating in. 

He shook his head, refocusing on his own image.
One thing at a time
, he reminded himself. Focusing on the mirror Harley looked into his own eyes, grimacing as he recognized their haunted depths. He moved on quickly, examining each facet of his face before moving onto wound inventory. Bruises along his jaw and cheek bone were already nearly invisible, as were the areas all over his face that looked suspiciously like road rash.

Harley picked up a piece of his shaggy hair, scowling at the blackened tips. Apparently he’d been the main course in a barbeque. He poked his nose one way, then the other, noting the bump along the bridge that he was pretty sure didn’t belong there. He gave a mental shrug, knowing it would be mostly gone in another week or so. Hybrids bodies were miraculous at self-healing. It was part of their genetic makeup. Scars faded in days, often times disappearing altogether. Broken bones mended in weeks. Granted, the down side of this constant skin regeneration is the fact that their skin was hyper sensitive and baby soft, which made getting sliced up and barbequed a not so fun experience. He was relieved to see he still had all of his limbs attached. Hybrids may heal quickly, but if you lost an arm, sucks to be you ‘cause you ain’t getting
that
back. They weren’t friggin’ lizards after all. He forced his back straight, dropping the sheet on the floor to take full inventory of the damages.

He frowned at the white and brown bandages that covered his skin in different sized patches. A pile of slightly bloodied scraps covered the counter as he ripped them off one by one. Some of them stuck to his skin with dried blood, while others peeled away easily, which he gathered to mean a few of them had been changed and others had been left alone. He twisted at the hips, noting each twinge and protest his body made. Damaged ribs were added to the list, but they seemed to be healing well enough, and neither of his lungs felt as though they had been punctured. His kidneys were sore, and likely the main source of the internal bleeding he’d apparently endured.

The bandage at his hip had obviously been changed out once or twice. Based on its size and depth, there should have been more blood on the bandaging had it been left alone. The depth and ragged edges would have made it bleed a lot, and were obvious Rabid nail tears. He wasn’t real concerned about it though; he’d suffered a lot worse than this before. A few times had seen his gut and back slit clear open from top to bottom. Damned Rabids and their freakish nails never failed to put him in a mood. Being clawed at on a daily basis did that to a person. Probably completely wrecked his new jeans, too. Most of his pay went toward damned clothing purchases. He growled accusingly at the wound before moving onward in his inspection.

At the end of a long list of burns, cuts, and bruises, was a rabid bite on the calf which appeared to have nearly ripped a chunk out. It was surrounded by the angry purple tinge that Rabid bites always left behind, the Taint left under the skin by their rancid saliva. To a Clean, it would mean infection. To a Hybrid, it meant an extra dose of angst and temperamental issues on top of their usual charming personalities, but little else. Once their systems had worked the Taint out, they’d be back to ‘normal’. The more Taint, the longer it took. When Collapsed because of extensive injuries, the Taint tended to slow the process down, but overall wasn’t considered a health risk. As a counter effect, the more often they were bit, the less the Taint bothered them. Harley had been a chew toy often enough that the Taint was little more than an annoyance now. With a heavy sigh Harley turned on the faucet, scrubbing his hair out beneath the flow of cold water, letting the chilled water course across the skin of his face and torso as he straightened. He knew he was procrastinating now, putting off the inevitable. Eventually he was going to have to open that door and face the discomforting unknown. He hated that.

Tying the sheet around his waist, he twisted the knob, careful to keep his thumb over the lock so the button wouldn’t pop open with a loud click. Slowly pulling the door open he surveyed the other room through the crack, orienting himself.