Fang didn’t know anything about these so-called Horsemen. If they weren’t Erasers, he had no idea what he was up against.

They were a pack, but they didn’t seem to care about protecting each other. As Fang watched, the one who had the strongest grip on Dylan grabbed the second Horseman by the scruff of the neck. He smashed their heads together, and both Dylan and the unfortunate Horseman crumpled to the ground.

With Dylan out of the picture, the other Horseman joined the attack on Fang, and if fighting two was difficult, fighting three was almost impossible. Fang couldn’t dodge the blows anymore—there was always someone behind him now, kicking him forward toward the other brutes or tearing into his legs.

One wrenched Fang’s arms backward while another grabbed the sides of his face and slammed his head down against its knee. Fang’s forehead split, and blood from the gash streamed into his eyes, temporarily blinding him.

Then a hairy fist connected with his jaw and spun his head to the side so hard he swore his brain shook inside his skull. It felt like he had hunks of gravel in his mouth, and when he spat a blood-streaked loogie into the face of the guy who’d hit him, Fang saw two of his teeth fly out with it.

He looked down at Dylan’s sprawled body, not knowing if he was alive or dead, and felt utter desperation.

This wasn’t like with the Cryenas. Fang was exhausted, and no part of him felt invincible. He felt every scratch and bite, every broken bone. Every part of him hurt.

“You know it’s useless to fight, Fang,” a voice called from below. “This is your fate. It’s always been your fate.”

He glanced down to see the man standing on the cliff.

Was he hallucinating, or was it…

64

JEB.

It was you all along, Fang thought. You destroyed everything.

This was the confrontation he’d been waiting for, and the sight of his nemesis sent a surge of adrenaline through him, giving his muscles an extra kick. He wrenched away from his attackers and raced toward the ground, concentrating the last of his speed and power on one goal: tearing out Jeb’s throat.

But he just wasn’t fast enough. He wasn’t powerful enough.

Fang was so close, only inches from that smiling mug, when the Horsemen caught him, slamming him to the ground at Jeb’s feet.

Fang roared in frustration as he wrestled against them. There were two on his back now, pinning his arms beneath him, and one kneeling in front of him, its fists raining down on Fang’s head.

“You can’t beat them,” Jeb said, calmly looking down on the bloody scene. “You’re a part of them, Fang. You’re what makes them strong. Stronger.”