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The other council members shift in their seats, frustrated but nowhere near as furious as I am. Even Killian, the head of the centaurs, says, "So we're relying on the whims of a possessed island to decide who comes and goes?"

"It would seem so," Laz says flatly.

I stand up. "I see this as another reason to evict this human woman from the island. We entrusted her to break the spell Ursula Shipton cast on the wards, not complete it. She can't be trusted."

The room erupts. Laz and Killian talk over each other, trying to get a word in, until Killian finally shouts loud enough to bring the room back to order.

"You may not have agreed with what she did, Randy, but no one can deny that it needed to be done." Killian's voice cuts through the noise. "People are waking up to mates every day. Monster pregnancies have been reported on the island. Isolation from the outside world hasn’t done any of us any good."

Murmurs of agreement ripple through the crowd. I hate the sound of it.

"Didn't you discover that the garden gnome you've been feuding with next door has actually been your mate the whole time?"

I deliberately don't look at Willoughby, but I feel his eyes on me anyway. My chest twists uncomfortably. I mutter something back at Killian.

"Is it ideal? No. But I'll be the first to admit it seems far better than the spell I've been maintaining for the last twenty years," Laz says.

More murmurs. More agreement. I grind my teeth, working my jaw like I can smash my own stubbornness and swallow it down. I start to argue again, but the ground shakes under me before I get the chance.

Gasps and a few short screams bounce off the walls. We’ve all experienced this before and it’s not an earthquake, not this far north. It's her: the spirit witch. The island.

"Fine," I mutter.

The room breaks into cheering and clapping like I've handed out a gift instead of just running out of ground to stand on. I don't join in. I sit with my arms crossed, watching Conall spin Ivy off her feet a few rows over like the decision is worth celebrating.

I surreptitiously glance toward Willoughby, but he's not looking at me anymore. His blush is gone, replaced by an unreadable expression that bothers me more than the shaking ground did.

The town hall clears out fast. It's late, and everyone's headed to their own homes or caves or hoards. Whatever.

Willoughby is still standing in the same place he was while I spoke.

He turns without meeting my eyes and heads out the front door. Once we're under the stars and no one is around, I reach for him. My fingers barely brush his arm before he spins.

"Why are you so against these changes?" I recoil at the vehemence in his tone. "Everything about the island’s new protection spell is for the better."

I scoff, and anger heats his dark brown skin. "I don't consider a meddling witch literally possessing the island better."

He sputters. "Okay, yes, that's not ideal, but it's still an improvement. Mates literally couldn't sense each other, Randy. We—"

His voice cracks, and he spins. My stomach dips at the glassy sheen in his eyes.

"Will, it's not—I'm glad I found you. I'm so glad."

His bright eyes finally meet mine. For a brief moment, it feels like we've connected emotionally. Maybe he's glad too.

But then I ruin it.

I realize the words are stupid before I speak, but I can't seem to stop them.

"It's just traditionally—"

His whole body goes rigid, and I know I've made a terrible blunder. He whirls away, but angles his head just enough that I can hear him when he replies.

"Your traditions leave no room for me, Randy. Not as a gnome. If those are so important to you... more important than me... then maybe this isn't going to work."

All the rebuttals I'd been preparing, all my arguments and carefully reasoned points...whatever I'd planned to say to convince Willoughby grinds to a complete stop.

Mates not working out? Mate rejection? It's almost unheard of.