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

I’d been pacing around the kitchen, avoiding eye contact with him, for forty-five minutes. Now I finally planted myself across the table from him and stared intently at his beaten face. His hair had grown shaggy and long, and he’d aged several years in a matter of months.

He’d become a man.

At first the thought made me a little sad. And then it kind of scared me. But then it actually… excited me, somehow.

And what have you become, Maximum Ride? I thought. Definitely not a woman. And definitely not a savior. Barely a leader, anymore. Basically, I was nothing.

“So… no offense, man, but why’re you here?” Iggy asked, his mouth fully loaded with cake, spraying us all with chocolate crumbs. “Shouldn’t you be with your gang?”

Fang shoved a hunk of cake into his mouth. He glanced at Iggy and shrugged. Fang was giving us the silent treatment, just like old times.

“I’m just looking for some answers, man,” pressed Iggy.

“The gang is done,” Fang answered shortly, taking a swig of the chocolate milk. A shadow passed over his face, and I remembered what Ari had said about Maya. “So, how’s Dylan doing?”

Dylan, the elephant in the room (well, in the living room). The rest of the flock stared at me expectantly. Iggy whistled, and Gazzy made kissing noises.

“Out!” I yelled at them. They scrambled away, taking the rest of the cake with them.

“Dylan’s fine,” I told him, as nonchalantly as possible. “Doing well on his flying and fighting techniques, adjusting in the community, you know…”

“Uh-huh.” Fang stared at me, his dark eyes focusing on me intently, a tight little smile on his lips. “You look… different, Max. Lighter, or happier, or something.”

Or something.

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?” I snorted dismissively, but inside, my stomach leaped a little. Was he trying to say I looked good? Maybe even… pretty?

“I guess Dylan was just what the doctor ordered,” Fang went on, unlocking his eyes from mine abruptly and stabbing his fork into his cake.

“Yeah, right. The insane Dr. Gunther-Hagen, that is. I really trust the guy.” I coughed. “Anyway, thanks, but… you actually look a little like roadkill, and I’m pretty freaking worried. What happened?”

He gave me a penetrating stare that made me shiver—not unpleasantly—from my neck to my toes. “Basically, I came back from the dead, Max. And I’m ready to move on now. End of story.”

As if it wasn’t bad enough that my evening with Dylan in the tree house had pretty much filled my every thought up until about an hour ago, now that Fang was back I was having flashbacks of kisses with him.

The different memories kept swirling through my head like a swarm of tadpoles in a muddy pond, twisting into darker and darker masses of shapes until I couldn’t tell which way was up.

Or which intensely beautiful winged boy I was fantasizing about.

48

FANG AND DYLAN stood across from each other, both silent, arms crossed. Dylan shifted his weight, rubbed absently at his temple. It wasn’t like he was facing the mostly-ex-but-it-was-confusing boyfriend of the girl he loved or anything.

“You wanted to talk to me about something?” Dylan asked finally, cursing the anxiety he heard in his own voice and envying the expression on Fang’s face—that cool blankness that gave nothing away.

“Yeah,” Fang replied quietly, yet with so much hostility in the single word that Dylan was taken by surprise.

The time away from the flock had left Fang leaner, more angular. Add in the amount of still healing bruises and cuts on his face and the pissed-off scowl, and Fang looked downright menacing.

Not that Dylan couldn’t take him in a fight, if it came to that. He totally could. But still. An ideal situation, this wasn’t.

“So…?” Dylan said after another long minute of uncomfortable silence. “Talk.”

“I heard you’ve been sleeping in Max’s room,” Fang said, his dark eyes narrowing.

Ohhhh. So that’s what this is about, Dylan thought. Note to self: There is a reason Max calls Nudge “the Vortex of Friendly, Chattery, Bambi-Eyed Doom.” She sees, hears, and talks about all.

“Yeah, and?” Dylan said, feigning as much boredom as he could muster. He even picked at his fingernails.