“Fuck,” I whisper, falling back into the pillow and wondering what fresh hell tomorrow will bring.
Ivy
There is a rabid monster in my living room. It's snarling and grunting. At the top of my loft stairs, I stand there wishing for a lock, or even just a door. I stare down. Isn't this what Conall sleeping on my couch is for? To keep monsters from getting in my house?
Another loud snarl slices through the air. My chest tightens and my heart pounds as fear prickles across my skin. I flinch and look around, panic rising. There’s no way I can just stand here and wait for whatever it is to come up to me. Scanning my bedroom, anxiety making me desperate, I find no baseball bat or knife, nothing useful. That feels like a real problem now. A sturdy, sharp pair of stilettos catches my eye. Grabbing one in each hand, heels out, I creep down the stairs. Every creak makes me more nervous. Peeking into the living room reveals nothing, but the anxiety doesn't go away.
The sound comes again, from the couch.
No…it can't be.
I ease closer and peek over the edge of the couch. Conall is there in a t-shirt and boxers, legs at odd angles, one arm across his stomach, the other over his eyes. The horrible snarl comes again, but this time I see the source—it's Conall's mouth.
"Oh my God!" I shout, grabbing a sofa pillow and shoving it over his face. "Get up!" He grunts and sits up, pushing the pillow off.
"What the fuck?" he mumbles, voice thick with sleep but missing its usual edge.
"Could you snore-growl-snarl, whatever, any louder? I thought something feral was down here and it had killed you."
He narrows his eyes, his black-green hair flopping forward. "I don't snore," he insists.
I roll my eyes. "Yes, you do. It woke me up. It scared me."
His jaw is tight as he chucks the pillow at my chest. I catch it as he gets up, his shoulders tense, and rifles through his duffel bag.
"If I snore, blame this couch,” he says. “I feel like a horse trampled me."
For a moment, regret settles in my chest. When I was in my room listening to that noise, sure that another monster had broken in, I wished I hadn’t pushed his help away so quickly. Still, it isn’t my fault he’s under this spell. It isn’t my fault the wards are damaged and monsters are getting through. I’m not giving up my privacy just so his back feels better.
He stands up, and I notice Conall looks less human than he did when I went to bed. His hair has a deeper green tint now. Green patches mark his skin, two sharp fangs show in his mouth, his tail moves behind him, small sprouts grow from his forearms, and his hands end in sharp green claws.
“What happened to you?” I ask.
He lifts his hands and studies the tips of his fingers. “Seems like Laz decided that since you know about the island now, there’s no need for him to use blood and energy glamoring everyone to look more human.”
For a moment, I can’t look away. He’s shirtless, green running along every line of his abs. His broad hand flexes, and his tail wraps aroundsome clothes on the floor, lifting them up. I find myself wondering what else that tail could do to me.
“Hey,” he laughs.
I look up and meet his bright green eyes. Heat floods my neck and cheeks.
“I’m getting dressed. Amy said she’d meet me for coffee this morning. So, you coming too, or what?”
He grabs some items from his bag and walks into the downstairs bathroom. I head upstairs to my room.
"Holy shit," I breathe.
We're walking along the sidewalk toward the café, and I can't stop staring.
"Still having doubts about this being real?" Conall asks smugly.
No. No I'm not.
"Between Laz and Amy,” he continues, “it's likely everyone on the island knows that you're aware of what's really going on and that they're all monsters.”
Every single person on the island has given up on keeping up appearances. I spot people with scales and people with feathers, more than a few with horns and tails. One man has a bull's head and stands over seven feet tall, a thick gold ring hooped through his nose. A minotaur? Wings of every kind catch the light, feathered and translucent. Eyes of every unnatural color flash toward me.
I glance at Conall, who has abandoned his usual hat and is now showing off the tips of his pointed ears. His tail trails out from his pants, his hands are slightly elongated with claws tipping each finger, and his teeth are noticeably sharper. Reading fantasy books my entire childhood prepared me for this. I feel like I know what some of the monsters are but others I couldn't possibly guess at. We stop at the café. We join everyone in line and when I reach the counter, I can't stifle a gasp.
