Edge of Instinct: Rabids Book 1 (28 page)

“I like a challenge,” Aviator Guy promised. In a movement that nearly blurred in its speed, he yanked a throwing dagger from inside his jacket, and flung it straight into her assailant’s shoulder. With a grunt of pain, the thug shifted her into a different position. The next dagger zinged between Amiel’s thighs, slamming into Tall Dude’s left leg. Amiel gasped at just how close it had come to hitting her, and for some reason found herself blushing, too. Aviator Guy grinned sinisterly at the thug, clearly enjoying himself.

“I got lots of knives, man. We can do this til y’all look like a pin cushion.”

Finally coming to the realization that his human shield tactic wasn’t going to work, he shoved Amiel to the ground, and turned to run. He hadn’t gotten more than five feet away, when Aviator Guy grabbed another nearby trash can and chucked it at him. It seemed to be a favorite tactic of his. The heavy metal can knocked
Duane
to his knees. Groaning, he kept crawling, trying to regain his feet. Aviator Guy walked casually toward him, kicking him in the butt so that he face-planted into the ground. Rolling him to his back, Aviator Guy grabbed the lapels of the man’s jacket, yanking him closer. Slowly sliding the dagger from the guy’s shoulder, he drug it down Tall Dude’s face from temple to chin, blood blooming along its track.

“If I ever see your ugly mug again, if y’all ever go
near
the girl again, I’ll do a lot worse than give ya a lil paper cut. I’ll drag ya to the Skirts, break both your legs, and leave ya to the Rabids.”

“No, please! I won’t, I swear I won’t!” Duane whined anxiously, blood dripping from his shoulder and face, hitting the pavement with a dull pattering. Her dark rescuer ignored his pleading. He brought the knife to the other side of the guy’s face, repeating the process.

“Rabids only bother turning the ones that the pack considers strong enough to be worth it, did you know that? I doubt they would bother turning you though, even if you
were
in one piece. But if you’re already broken when they find you?” He shook his head, ignoring the trembling man’s pleas for mercy. “Ever see what a Rabid does to a broken human, Duane? Rejects like you rely on your tough guy routine, think it makes you strong. But I promise it wouldn’t save you from them. No, the broken ones are like a game for them. Kinda like cats, I suppose. Just
love
to play with their food before they kill it, ya know? They’ll dismember you, disembowel you, eat ya piece by piece. Did you know their spit has a special adrenaline effect? Just enough adrenaline to keep ya awake, squirmin’ and screamin’ til your heart gives out. Can’t even count on bleedin’ out to save ya, because guess what, their spit works wonders for blood clottin’, too. ” Tall Dude was mumbling incoherently at this point, maybe even sobbing.

“Them lovely new scars on your face? My callin’ card, sort of a daily reminder that you’re on your last chance. If I see your ugly mug again, you’re rabid chow.” Aviator Guy dropped him to the ground, placed a foot on his chest and yanked the throwing dagger free of his leg. The thug cried out in pain, then scrambled away into the darkness before Aviator Guy could change his mind. Casual as ever, Aviator Guy leaned over, picked up the now dented trash can, and placed it back on the curb. He pick up the few pieces of trash that had spilled out on the ground, using it to wipe the gore from his blades before tossing it back in the can. Sliding the daggers back inside his jacket, he bent to pick up her fallen pistol. Still slumped on the ground where she’d been tossed, she scooted back slightly as his eyes met hers. She stared up at him in awe, fear, embarrassment, and gratitude. And if she was honest, the fear was more deeply seated in the rebuke she saw in his eyes than it was in what she had just witnessed

“Y’all even know how to use one of these, kid?” he asked, quickly releasing the magazine and shifting the slide back to check for a loaded chamber. The thanks died on her lips, fading under his dark glare.

“I’ve been taught,” she replied vaguely.

“Then why didn’t ya shoot.”

“I…” She stopped, not knowing what to say. Truth was, she didn’t know. He sighed heavily before handing it back to her, handle first.

“Rule number 1 in a fight: Don’t make a threat, if ya don’t plan on carryin’ it out. If you’re gonna pull a gun on someone, ya derned well better use it. Otherwise, keep it put away, unless ya want
them
to use it on
you
. Because they will.” She nodded her understanding, carefully putting the gun back in the pocket inside her jacket. Her eyes drifted to the body of the thug that had been stupid enough to come at Aviator Guy with a knife. The muscles in her rescuer’s jaw flexed when he saw her looking at the man he’d taken down without a second thought.

“Don’t you feel sorry for him. He was a Cut, one of the sickest, most depraved scum, short of Rabids. Y’all ain’t the first victim they’ve found in the dark, and I ain’t around to save ‘em all. One less like him on the street is one less idiot killin’ innocents, and makin’ my job harder.” She swallowed, nodding but not meeting his eyes. He sighed, crouching in front of her.

“Are you outta your ever lovin’ mind? Don’t ya realize the danger to a woman, out here alone? Especially at night?” She shrugged uncomfortably.

“I thought…we had strict curfew back home, and the Rabids never came into the city. I thought, since you don’t have street curfew here, that it must be safer,” she finished lamely.

“Fine. Let’s say the Rabes chose to have manners and steer clear of the main population. What about the lowlifes of the city?”

“I never had to worry about that before,” she whispered, biting her lip against the burn of humiliation she could feel stinging her eyes. He stared at her for a long moment, and she wasn’t sure if he was trying to gauge her sanity, or sincerity on the matter. When her expression made it clear she really hadn’t been aware of the full implication of danger, he ran a hand over his face, lips moving in another silent prayer for patience.

“You hurt?” he asked gruffly. She blinked, giving herself a once over when his words finally sunk in. Aside from soreness, missing patches of hair, bruises, and emotional trauma, she was fine. Her leathers had saved her from most of the scrapes and damage. Her head and neck had the worst of it, being hauled around by her hair and on a low supply of oxygen. She shook her head, and he nodded approval. Climbing to his feet, he offered a hand. She stared hard at it for a long moment, before placing her own in it. It engulfed hers, warm to the touch, and surprisingly soft. Unprepared to be yanked to her feet, she stumbled against him. This close, she could finally see his eyes more clearly. Their depths were like the deepest arctic blues of icebergs, the kind she’d seen in pictures. They were cold, piercing, and they made her breathless. His brow furrowed and she quickly pulled away, brushing away the dirt on her clothes in an effort to hide her girlishly flustered embarrassment.

“You’re either naive and sheltered, or just plain crazy.” She grabbed a lock of hair at her back, twisting it. He was right, on all accounts.

“I’ve heard that one before,” she admitted dejectedly. He grunted quietly, voice taking on a gentler tone.

“Look, kid. This ain’t Pleasantville or wherever it is y’all came from, alright? The lack of street curfew comes from the fact that the city has run bankrupt on cops willin’ to patrol the place and the soldiers are busy in the Vasts and everywhere else. Dallas is too big, too overrun. Cops just added more bodies for the Rabids. And around here Rabids don’t just stay in the outskirts, they come into the city. So do the Cuts. Smart people stay barricaded in their homes at night. Aside from you, the ones lurkin’ ‘round in the dark don’t got no other choice, or they ain’t up to no good.”

“What about you? You’re out here. Do you not have a choice, or are you one of the lurkers up to no good?” she pointed out, trying to steer away from that truth behind his statements. Back home, the thugs hadn’t been afraid of the city, but they
had
been terrified of her mother. Malinda was basically the female version of the Godfather back home, and no one dared to mess with her or anyone connected to her. Her mother’s shadow may have ruined her life plenty of times, but it had always been a shield against those who would have hurt her. A shield Amiel had been yielding without realizing it, apparently. She hadn’t even thought about the dangers of other humans tonight. The man gave her a wry glance.

“I’m a different story, kid. Been trained and equipped to beat the crap outta idiots and Rabids alike. Whereas you are apparently equipped to be their rug.”

“I’m stronger than you think I am,” she declared defiantly, which in the current situation was rather laughable. Yet she felt the need to defend herself.

“Yeah, I think y’all proved
that
one rather well tonight,” he replied mockingly, though his voice lacked its previous severity. “You’re lucky they were just common Cuts and not Rabids.”

“I’m not worried about Rabids,” she grumbled. “It’s the regular guys I can’t handle.” His brows rose.

“Is that so. Well, just so ya know,
you
should be worried about
everyone
. Because honestly, y’all fight like crap.” He crossed his arms with a smug smirk.

“Yeah, I got that, thanks,” she agreed glumly. An idea suddenly surging to the front of her mind. Now was her chance to ask someone to train her. “Maybe…you would be willing to train me?”

 “Excuse me?” He sat back on his heels regarding her as though she were a dangerous snake. The smug grin on his face melted away as though it had never been. Guarded, tough as nails Aviator Guy was back.

 “I fight like crap. You know it, I know it. But you can obviously kick butt. So, teach me how to defend myself, and then you won’t have to keep rescuing me.” She smiled sweetly, which only earned her a glare. She quickly changed her tactics. “I can pay you.” His glare darkened, strike two.

“Here’s a better idea. Stay inside at night like normal people, and stop puttin’ yourself in these situations. Problem solved.”

“Well, I’m one of those people without a choice. I have to work, and my job requires that I am out at night. Therefore, that’s not really an option for me,” she replied in frustration.

“So get a different job.”

“Are you kidding? I was lucky to get this one! Took me nearly a month to find it, too. Unless of course you are going to put in a good word for me with
your
boss. You did mention having a job earlier, didn’t you?” He laughed humorlessly at her statement.

“Not gonna happen.”

“Why not, don’t think I could handle it?” She may have put a bit more flirt into that statement than she should have, considering the circumstances and the fact that she really had no idea who this guy was.

“Y’all don’t want nothin’ to do with my job.”

“What are you, the boogey man?” Strike three- her joke sucked. His eyes darkened, and he moved so close his shaggy bangs tickled her brow. She swallowed hard, staring up into his dangerously arctic eyes, drowning in the darkness reflected behind them.

“Yeah. Somethin’ like that.” The deep reverberation of black truth in his voice made her knees weak, and she was grateful when he stepped back, giving her space. He casually strode toward her bike, looking down at it in abstract interest. “Let’s move on to more important matters, shall we? Motorcycles are made for ridin’, not pushin’.”She ducked her head, embarrassed to admit the truth.

“Someone siphoned my gas. Again.” He shook his head, regarding her like an errant teenager.

“Y’all gotta take better care of your bike. You take care of it, it’ll take care of you. It’s dangerous out here, kid. Get that in your head. If I hadn’t come along when I did…” He left it hanging in the air, and she didn’t have to hear the rest of his sentence to know exactly what would have happened. In fact it was something she refused to think about until she got home, where it was safe to fall apart for a while.

He walked away abruptly, and she wondered if he was leaving her, just like that. She had no right to ask him for more than he’d already done of course. But she’d hoped he’d offer all the same. He was just as much a stranger to her as anyone else, and it was probably foolish to feel the way she did in his presence, but it seemed unavoidable. It was likely just some sort of syndrome, the kind a girl gets when a guy rescues her from a dangerous situation and she drools all over herself from then on. He made her breathless, he made her irritated, he made her feel safe. He disappeared down an alleyway, and Amiel’s heart fell. Pushing against unwelcome tears, she bent and grunted under the weight of her bike, pulling it to stand. She wished she could examine it for more ‘battle scars’, but that would have to wait until she was safe.

“Put this under your bike.” Aviator Guys voice floated back to her like a welcome breeze on a hot summer’s day. She turned toward him, unable to contain the bright smile of joy at his reappearance. He paused, seemingly caught off guard by it, before continuing forward with a frown. He must have stowed his motorcycle in that alley before coming to rescue her, because he was pushing it alongside him now.

He handed her a flat round metal device that looked small in his hand, but covered her own. His brow rose and she scrambled to remember what he’d just told her to do. She kicked the stand on the bike and slid the object underneath, waiting for further instruction.