Monstrous by MarcyKate Connolly

runs up my spine with every word. I rather like it.
    Father would not. He would be furious that I stand here, staring at the strange boy out after curfew and radiating warmth in the middle of the night.
    I take a step back, keeping close to the fountain.
    â€œPlease, I just want to talk to you.” He inches forward.
    I bite my tongue and insist my feet stay in place. Part of me aches to talk to him, but instinct screams to flee. To get as far as I can from the very awake, very aware, human boy. This is different from my interaction with the girls. Getting nearer to me is not something that ever crosses their minds as a good idea.
    He takes another step. In a few paces he will be right in front of me, close enough to touch. Close enough to hand me the rose himself.
    â€œWhat is your name?” he asks. I purse my lips and shake my head. Father would not want me to tell him that. It might be dangerous. I cannot risk him discovering Father’s plan. Or what I am.
    â€œI’m Ren.” He points to his chest. I remain silent. My throat is so dry, I could not talk even if I wanted to.
    â€œI’ve never seen you in the city until recently.” He pauses, his brow furrowing. Another step. “But something’s familiar about you.”
    And then another. The scent of baking bread rolls over me stronger than before. I want to close my eyes and breathe it in, but that is out of the question. I have not yet determined whether he is friend or foe.
    One more step and we will be inches apart. My hands quiver beneath my cloak. My claws ache for release. My knees bend without my willing it, ready to launch into the air at the slightest provocation.
    He moves the hand behind his back and holds out the rose as he takes the final step.
    I cannot help it; I skitter back, gripping the edge of the fountain. Water splashes my fingers, but can do nothing to cool my burning skin.
    He holds up both hands, one still clasping the rose. It is red. It is perfect. “Don’t run, please. Can you speak?”
    I hold my breath and stare at the petals of the rose. A drop of water from the fountain hits one and rolls off, leaving a deep red trail in its wake.
    I realize I am about to let him come closer. What will happen? What does he intend to do? Panic surges inside mychest as he closes the space between us.
    Instinct takes over. My tail whips out from beneath my cloak and stabs Ren in the leg. His smile fades as his eyes lose their focus. He stumbles and sways, and I catch him before his head hits the rim of the fountain.
    I am hyperaware of three things: Ren is in my arms, he is unconscious, and it is my fault. I press my hand on his chest—his heart beats against my palm. He will wake like the girls always do, but seeing this boy limp and up close affects me differently. I rescue them, but I rendered him vulnerable. Robbers might find him. Or worse, the wizard.
    This was wrong of me. I need to maintain greater control. Ren is nothing to fear. I pry the rose from his hand and tuck it in my braid. Then I hoist the boy up in my arms and head for the palace. He will be safe in the garden until he wakes tomorrow.
    I stop in the alley just beyond the guardhouse, and push in the two bricks that open the secret passage. I hurry through the tunnel, and in minutes step out in the moonlit garden. Ren does not stir. His stillness worries me, but his chest rises and falls as he breathes. Satisfied, I set him on a carved marble bench beside a bush of sweet roses. Before I can think better of it, my hand traces the line of his jaw. I want to commit every facet of his face to memory.
    On the other nights I only sensed him or saw a quick glimpse; this is different. His skin is browned by the sun and, before he fell asleep, I saw that his eyes are rich like the soil in my garden. His hair is the same color, but streaks of sunlight run through it.
    I must not see him again. This was dangerous. Too dangerous. I cannot confide in Father