I don’t know why I’m pushing this so much, right here in the middle of the road. After everything—the island, the monsters, the close calls, Conall being his usual grumpy, closed-off self should be comforting. Something steady to hold onto. But instead, it feels like I’m coming apart.
“Not if it breaks you,” he says, the words dragged out like they hurt coming up.
My eyes widen and meet his. The muscles in his crossed arms tense, like he’s holding himself back from reaching for me. His eyes are protective, angry, and something darker that makes my heart race and heat rise inside me. We’re on the edge of something dangerous, something I want and fear at the same time.
Longing rushes through me, sharp and unwelcome.
“Why?” I ask, the word barely more than a whisper.
"Hi," a sharp voice cuts in from behind me.
I jump and clap a hand over my mouth to keep from screaming. Dolly stands behind us, her hair in two buns, wearing a pink top andlight pink jeans. She was probably just walking from her cottage into town.
"Jesus, Dolly, you scared the shit out of us," Conall says, his claws coming down from where he'd clearly raised them.
"Puppy says he is watching." I stare at her, but she goes on. "Nothing will get close to the house at night when he watches."
"Oh, um, that's nice, Dolly," I breathe. "Just out of curiosity, is Puppy a dog or…" Conall's expression is dark as he shakes his head. She smiles and loops her arm in mine, and we make our way down Main Street, Conall trailing close behind.
Ivy
The day drags. Two whole monsters have come in within the last three hours. Killian, the leader of the centaur clan, for some horse hair product, and the ferryman I met when I first came to the island. He looks relatively unchanged with his long, black and gray hair, wind-worn features, and broad body. Until he asks for moisturizing oil. The moment he's done paying, he pops the cap and squirts some onto his palm. From under his shirt, several long, squid-like tentacles slither, and he rubs oil onto them, focusing on patches that look angry and red. I do my best to hold my breath, and when he finally leaves, I retch into the small trash bin next to the counter while Conall holds in laughter.
That was an hour ago, and no one's come in since. Amy excused herself to the basement to do inventory, but I saw one of the books from the Alexandria tucked under her arm as she went.
Conall's been going around straightening things, spinning pens, flipping through books. He looks like the boredom is driving him just a little over the edge.
"What are you going to put in here?" His voice cuts through the silence, and I jerk a little. He's sharpening one of his claws against a runestone he'd gotten off the shelves. The sound scrapes across my nerves. I'd been studying the handwritten financial records my aunt kept for the store. I also might have been halfway to dozing.
"What do you mean?" I think I know, but I wish I didn't.
"You owned a retail business before, so you must have picked inventory for it. Now that you own Shipton's, you can do anything you want with it. Put anything you want in it. So what are you going to put in?"
I shrug, keeping my eyes on the grid of numbers in front of me. "I'll probably just keep it how it is."
The sound of claw against stone pauses, and I can practically feel Conall's gaze. "Why?" Genuinely curious instead of his default annoyed gruffness.
I shrug. "Why not?"
"Because you hate it." He states it as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. "I've seen you go around the shop. The stuff is interesting for sure, but nothing sparks your interest."
"You don't know what sparks my interest."
"I know it's not this."
"How?" I demand.
"Because when things spark your interest, you—you know, you…" he trails off.
"No, I don't know. I what?" I cross my arms, glaring at him across the counter. He picks at the rune grooves in the stone, eyes on its surface.
"You get this gleam in your eyes. Like you're excited to be here, just to exist maybe. I've seen it a few times." He glances up at me from beneath his lashes, emerald eyes sparking with something hot and simmering. "When you read. When you talk to Dolly. When you first saw everyone in their monster form. When you saw Hank up at the roundabout."
"Hank?"
"The gargoyle." He gestures toward the town roundabout. It's well cared for, flowers blooming, the sun hitting the statue just right so you can see every angle and feature.
"The statue is a monster?"
