“Cheers to that.” The Gasman nodded and plopped down next to her with a sigh of relief, moving as if every muscle hurt.
And yet… for Dylan, it still wasn’t over. Not even almost. Dylan, after all, still had a mission.
Though he and Ari had had the same goal, he hadn’t trusted Jeb’s motives, hadn’t been sure that the rabid, enhanced wolves wouldn’t go wild after Fang was dead and take out the entire flock. He’d needed to eliminate all threats to Max before he attempted his despicable mission. And he knew that once he had made up his mind, he had to be the one to do it.
Well, he thought, now it’s up to me alone.
He had to be the one to kill Fang.
He struggled to his feet, conscious of Max’s sweet, concerned eyes watching him carefully.
“I’m sorry, Max,” he murmured, so softly that only she could hear.
And he whipped around, slamming his fist into Fang’s already broken nose.
68
DYLAN THOUGHT THE shocked look on Fang’s face was utterly priceless. It gave him the strength to do what he knew he had to do next.
Dylan rose into the air with powerful strokes, the air swirling and roiling around him. Fang had shot away from Dylan in shock, anger, and surprise, twisting his face into a grimace as his nose gushed from the blow. But Dylan matched him wing to wing. He was the hunter, his body strong and sure in the pursuit, his face set in grim expectation.
Dr. Williams had been right: He was stronger, more powerful, more advanced. He had been created for this.
There was only one way this could end.
In his mind’s eye, Dylan saw the fight from above—a giant bird of prey and a snarling, wounded grizzly clawing and screeching at each other, streaking violently through the sky like a shooting star, both intent on one thing: blood.
Dylan watched as the bear twisted his lean body defensively, his dark, matted hair lifted by the wind. He watched the paw swing and find its mark, saw blood gushing from fresh wounds. Then Dylan was aware of a spark of electricity, a wetness vibrating on his arm.
He saw those famous fangs, bared and gnashing as a deadly snarl built from somewhere vicious and animal within.
Then he watched the eagle, stalking its prey from above with graceful speed and huge breadth, wings spread, talons out, ready to strike.
Diving for the kill.
Going for the throat.
And before he could register what was going on, Max was there, between them, real and physical, her voice echoing in his eardrums.
“Dylan!” she wailed, blocking Fang, cradling him, propping his body up even as she kicked and clawed at Dylan’s face. “If you ever loved me, if you care about me at all, please”—her voice broke as sobs overtook her, and it was like a knife slicing through him—“don’t do this.”
She was fighting him with all her strength, pulling at his hands, pleading with all her heart. Pleading for him to spare Fang’s life.
As if waking from a nightmare, he blinked a few times and panted as he looked from the tears running down Max’s dirty, bloody face to the hands clenched, viselike, around Fang’s throat.
They were his hands, he understood with shock.
He had wanted to protect Max, he told himself miserably. But Fang’s death, he realized, would kill her as surely as any whitecoat could.
That was when he realized he couldn’t go through with it.
Dylan loved Max more than anything.
Even more than the survival of the earth.
69
JUST WHEN I thought Dylan was going to crush the life out of Fang forever, the word “us” changed everything.
You’re better than this, Dylan, I had screamed at him. They’re the ones making you do this—not you. You don’t want to kill Fang. Let him go. Do it for you. And me. Do it for us!
When I was sure that Fang was on his last breath, when I was sure my heart was one second away from irreversibly shattering, Dylan suddenly released Fang’s throat and shot away from us, his powerful wings beating so fast they were a blur.
I dropped to the ground with Fang’s unconscious body in my arms, still weeping.
“Is Fang…” Nudge asked, her voice trembling.
I could only look at her solemnly as I heaved us both up and staggered toward the house. I didn’t know how to answer her yet, and I couldn’t voice the fears snaking through my thoughts.
“Let’s just get him inside,” I said shakily.
With the flock close on my heels, I laid Fang on the couch, wondering if I would ever have furniture that wasn’t bloodstained. Nudge hurried over with a blanket and carefully covered Fang. I looked at my flock, being so strong, and my throat threatened to close.
I sat down next to Fang and held his cold hand in mine, trying to warm it. I stroked his dark, bloodied hair. The blood vessels in his eyelids and cheeks had burst, and there were tiny red lines streaking over his pale face. The face I’d grown up with, the face I loved. His neck was all blotchy, covered in dark purple, hand-shaped bruises—it looked like Dylan was still choking him.
“He’s supposed to be immortal, anyway, right?” Iggy said from next to me. He was trying to sound tough, but I heard the fear in his voice, and saw how tightly he was pressing his lips together. “Right, Max?”
I shook my head. Iggy hadn’t quite understood Jeb’s shorthand scientific gobbledygook, but I couldn’t explain it to him now. I couldn’t speak. All I could think about was what Angel had said long ago: Fang will be the first to die.
I pressed an ear to Fang’s chest, holding my breath. His heartbeat was weak and erratic, but it was there.
“He’s alive,” I said with a sigh, sweet relief flooding through me. Behind me, Gazzy cheered, and I heard small, hiccupping sobs coming from Angel. “He’s okay, he’s okay—he’s just knocked out,” I continued, my voice hard and determined. “He’s going to be fine.” I concentrated on Fang, trying to will his strength back into him.
“Do you think he needs blood or x-rays or—” Iggy started to say, and then he suddenly froze, a strange expression on his face.
Everything changes now, I heard my Voice say in my head. Be ready. You’ve won this battle, but the real threat has been unleashed. The war has only just begun.
I watched Gazzy’s face grow even paler and saw the despair in Nudge’s eyes, and I realized that the Voice wasn’t just in my own head this time. Every member of my little flock had heard the same thing.
Be ready, the Voice repeated. The 99% Plan is in effect.
70
I DIDN’T EVEN have time to launch into a full-fledged freak-out over the Voice’s message before my thoughts were drowned out by a distinctive chopping sound that was quickly getting louder and louder.
“Is that a helicopter?” Nudge asked, peering out a window. “There’s a helicopter now?”
The chopper was super close—almost right on our roof, it sounded like. I hated leaving Fang for even a second, but I hurried over to the window. Outside, the treetops were bent almost double and dead leaves were flying everywhere. The house windows were starting to shake when the whirring sound of the blades slowed and stopped.
“I seriously can’t deal with this right now,” I muttered. For the first time, I really didn’t know if we were up to any new challenge. My flock was bloody and beaten up, Fang was still out cold, and Dylan was gone. If this was some new threat, I didn’t have a Plan B. Or a Plan A, for that matter.