Margaret Stohl - Dangerous Creatures

There are only two kinds of Mortals in the backwater town of Gatlin, South Carolinathe stupid and the stuck. At least, thats what they say.

As if there are other kinds of Mortals anywhere else.

Please.

Luckily, theres only one kind of Siren, no matter where you go in this world or the Otherworld.

Stuck, no.

Stuck-up? Maybe.

Stupid?

Its all a matter of perspective. Heres mine: Ive been called a lot of things, but what I really am is a survivorand while there are more than a few stupid Sirens, there are zero stupid survivors.

Consider my record. I outlasted some of the Darkest Casters and creatures alive. I withstood whole months of Stonewall Jackson High School. Beyond that, I survived a thousand terrible love songs written by one Wesley Lincoln, a clueless Mortal boy who became an equally clueless quarter Incubus. And who, by the way, is not the most gifted musician.

For a while, I survived wanting to write him a love song of my own.

That was harder.

This Siren gig is meant to be a one-way street. Ask Odysseus and two thousand years worth of dead sailors if you dont believe me.

We didnt choose for it to be that way. Its the hand we were dealt, and you wont hear me whining about it. Im not my cousin Lena.

Lets get something straight: Im supposed to be the bad guy. I will always disappoint you. Your parents will hate me. You should not root for me. I am not your role model.

I dont know why everyone seems to forget that. I never do.

No matter what she says, Lena was meant to be Light. I was meant to be Dark. Respect the teams, people. At least learn the rules.

My own parents disowned me after the Dark Claimed me as a Siren on my Sixteenth Moon. Since then, nothing rattles menothing and no one.

I always knew my incarceration in the sanitarium that my Uncle Macon called Ravenwood Manor was a temporary pit stop on the way to bigger and better, my two favorite words. Actually, thats a lie.

My two favorite words are my name, Ridley Duchannes.

Why wouldnt they be?

Sure, Lena gets the credit for being the most powerful Caster of all time.

Whatever. It doesnt make me any less excellent. Neither does her too-good-to-be-true Mortal boyfriend, Ethan the Wayward Wate, who defeats Darkness in the name of true love every day of the week.

So what?

I was never going for perfect. I think that should be clear by now.

Ive done my part, played my hand, even thrown in my cards when I had to. Ive bet what I didnt have and bluffed until I had it. Link once said: Ridley Duchannes is always playing a game. I never told him, but he was right.

Whats so bad about that? I always knew Id rather play than watch from the sidelines.

Except once.

There was one game I regretted. At least, one that I regretted losing. And one Dark Caster I regretted losing to.

Lennox Gates.

Two markers. Thats all I owed him, and it was enough to change everything. But Im getting ahead of myself.

It all started long before that. There were blood debts to be paidthough this time it wasnt up to my cousin and her boyfriend to pay them.

Ethan and Lena? Liv and John? Macon and Marian? This wasnt about them anymore.

This was about Link and me.

I shouldve known we wouldnt get off easy. No Caster goes down without a fight, even when you think the fight is over. No Caster lets you ride off into the sunset on some lame white unicorn or in your boyfriends beat-up excuse for a car.

Whats a Caster fairy-tale ending?

I dont know, because Casters dont get to have fairy talesespecially not Dark Casters. Forget the sunsetthe whole castle burns to the ground, taking Prince Charming down with it. Then the seven dwarves go all ninja and drop-kick your butt straight out of the kingdom.

Thats what a Dark Caster fairy tale looks like.

What can I say? Paybacks a bitch.

But heres the thing:

So am I.

It was their last night of summer, their last night of freedom, their last night of being frozen in time together in Gatlin, South Carolinaand technically speaking, Ridley Duchannes and Wesley Lincoln were in a fight.

When are we ever not? Ridley wondered. But this wasnt just any fight. It was the knockdown, drag-out, mother-of-all supernatural takedownsSiren Predator versus Hybrid Incubus Alien. That was what Link had called it, behind her back. Which was about the same as saying it to her face, at least in Gatlin.

It had started right after graduation, and three months later, it was still going strong. Not that youd know from looking at them.

If Link and Ridley openly admitted that they were still fighting, it would mean openly admitting that they still cared. If they openly admitted that they still cared, it would mean openly admitting to things like feelings. Feelings implied all sorts of gushy, messy, fuzzy complications.

Feelings were how theyd gotten into this fight in the first place.

Disgusting.

Ridley would rather have Link stab her through the heart with a pair of gardening shears than admit to any of those things. Shed rather fall on her face like Abraham Ravenwood did, in His Garden of Perpetual Peace, drawing his last breath unloved and alonea far fall for the most powerful Blood Incubus in the Caster world.

At least Ridley understood Abraham Ravenwood. She was an expert on being unloved and alone.

Worshipped and obeyed? Great. Feared and hated? Shed take it.

But loved and together? That was harder.

That was Lenas territory.

So Ridley wasnt about to admit that she and Link were still fighting. Not tonight, or any other night. You couldnt hit one relationship domino without toppling all the others. And if they couldnt discuss whether they were in a fight, she didnt even want to think about what else might come toppling down.

It wasnt worth the risk.

Which was the reason Ridley didnt mention anything she was thinking as she trudged through Gatlins stickiest marsh, heading for Lake Moultrie in her mile-high snakeskin platforms.

I should have worn kitten heels, Rid lamented.

Pretty sure kittens dont have heels. Link grinned.

Rid had caved and asked him for a ride to the stupid farewell party her cousin had organized. It was the first time the two of them had been alone together for longer than five minutes, ever since that night at the beginning of the summer when Link made the mistake of telling Rid he loved her at the Dar-ee Keen.

Meow, Ridley said, annoyed.

Link looked amused. I dont really think a you as a cat person, Rid.

I love cats, she said, wrenching one foot out of a patch of drying mud. Half my closet is leopard. Her shoe made a gross sucking sound that reminded Ridley of her little sister, Ryan, slurping on an ICEE.

And the rest is leather, Greenpeace. Links spiky hair stood straight up, as usualmore bed head than boy band. But you could see what he was going for. His faded T-shirt said GRANNY BROKE BOTH HIPSTERS, and the chain hanging from his wallet made him sound like a puppy on a leash. In other words, Link looked like hed looked every day of his life, hybrid Incubus or not. Gaining supernatural powers had done nothing to improve his sense of style.