Nevermore: The Final Maximum Ride Adventure (Maximum Ride 8)

“We’ve got the situation covered,” Ari said with finality, his eyes boring into Dylan’s. I scowled. His smile was playful, but in his eyes there was a definite threat.

“What does he mean, Dylan?” I demanded impatiently.

Dylan shook his head, but he adjusted his stance almost imperceptibly. He seemed to be deciding whether or not to spring.

“Someone had better tell me what’s going on,” I snapped, ready to fight both of them. “Now.”

“What I mean is that I’ll be defanging your buddy Fang.” Ari finally looked at me, smiling cheerfully.

Nudge gasped.

“What?” I exclaimed, heat rising to my cheeks even as my blood ran cold.

“And I just stopped by to make sure I wouldn’t have to add Dylan to the list while I’m at it,” Ari continued calmly. “Maxy here can tell you I’m a bit hard to keep down.” He flashed a conspiratorial grin. “So cease and desist, bud. Cease and desist.”

We all regarded one another suspiciously, and I tensed with growing fury and confusion. Ari wanted to kill Fang? And he was warning Dylan about it, even though Dylan hated Fang? And somehow Jeb was involved?

“Who’s this Fang guy, and what do you mean, ‘defang’?” Sloan asked nervously, a little slow on the uptake. “Like, you’re gonna knock his teeth out?”

Ari turned toward him and cracked his knuckles.

“Naw, kid,” he said. “I mean like I’m gonna tear his heart out through his chest.”

“That’s it,” I snapped, but as I lunged forward, Ari and his posse unfurled their wings, as if choreographed, and kicked off from the ground, hard.

I began to shrug off my jacket to do the same, but Dylan reached out and put his hand on my shoulder.

“You can’t take him right now,” Dylan murmured in my ear. “Too many people around.”

I eyed Sloan, who was stammering “Wh-what the…” next to a horrified Nudge, along with a small group of onlookers who were pointing and taking pictures.

I ground my teeth, but nodded and took a deep breath, unclenching my fists. Fang could take care of himself, I reminded myself. He’d be fine.

“Nice chatting with you guys,” called Ari from above. “Remember what I said, Dylan. Cease and desist.”

And with that, he rose into the darkness and was gone.

32

I WAS JUST rolling into my third hour of sleeplessness when the door to my room creaked open.

I was on guard instantly, bolting upright and wrapping one hand around my bedside lamp. Sound extreme? Not when you’ve been ambushed in your sleep as many times as I have.

“Who’s there?” I whispered. “Nudge?” She had been utterly devastated over stupid Sloan, crying for at least forty minutes after he had called her a freak and hightailed it out of the parking lot. I wouldn’t be surprised if she wanted yet more comforting. Even if I wasn’t necessarily the best comforter in the world.

“No, it’s me.” Very recognizable voice. Completely unexplainable, what he was doing here, but recognizable.

I put the lamp down and flicked it on. Standing in the doorway was Dylan, looking tired and rumpled and sheepish.

“What the heck are you doing in my room?” I asked, incredulous. “It’s past midnight. I’m sleeping.” Well, trying to.

We hadn’t talked after Ari’s little visit. I’d been too freaked out by his news about Fang, and too preoccupied with Nudge’s tears, and then I’d stalked off to my room to try to make sense of things. No luck there.

Dylan shuffled awkwardly. “I… was wondering… if there was any way I could… stay in here tonight.” He mumbled the last words, but I still got them.

I made a sound reminiscent of a dying cat. “What?”

“I hate being alone at night,” he muttered while I gaped. “I know it’s stupid and lame, but I mean—I’m not like you. I haven’t been alive for fifteen years.”