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I peek at Randy, but his attention has shifted to the window overlooking Main Street. Jack-o'-lanterns are lit on every doorstep, set atop straw bales. Paper bats are taped to the café windows across the street. Through the gap between the café and the flower shop, we can see the lake gently lapping against the beach. A full orange moon hangs above the water.

"What do you plan on saying at the meeting?" I ask.

He glances back at me. "The same as the last meeting," he says as though it were obvious.

I stare at him. "Circumstances have changed quite a bit since then, don't you agree?"

At the last meeting, Randy argued against allowing the new human resident to stay. He argued against altering the spell that protects the island. He argued against any change at all. Now those changes have come, and he still wants to argue against them?

He shrugs. Actually shrugs.

"Some of the landscape has changed, but the fundamentals stay the same."

My mouth is definitely gaping at this point. "And what fundamentals are those?" I grumble under my breath.

Randy looks taken aback by my reaction. "The tradition of the island, of course. If it weren't for that human woman, none of this would've happened."

He sounds petulant about it.

"Randy, before she came, the island's protection spell was keeping every outside monster away, including ones who needed help. It was keeping everyone here from being able to conceive."

I reach across the table and take his warm, soft hand in mine, hoping he'll understand what I'm trying to say. He stares at our joined hands but doesn't move away.

"The spell blocked our ability to find mates, Randy. We've been living next to each other for years. Can you imagine if—"

My voice cuts off. I can't say any more without it cracking. I've had wonderful friends and a community around me all these years. But there's always been an emptiness inside me that nothing quite fills.

Randy's eyes search mine, and for a moment, I swear I can see that same empty spot inside him.

"I—these traditions are in place for—"

I don't rescue him from his floundering. If we're really going to be mates, I need to understand Randy’s true heart.

Why is Randy like this? Can he change?

"Humans are dangerous, Willoughby," he says quietly, with absolute conviction.

My stomach drops, and I can't bring myself to look at him. My eyes fall to my plate before drifting toward the dark street outside.

"We should go before we're late," I say flatly.

Randy begins to speak again, but I'm already on my feet, gathering my scarf and heading for the door.

Randy

Willoughby moves to the side of the large barn. He doesn't usually attend these meetings, and I don't want any more uncomfortable attention drawn to him. We're waiting for Conall and his mate, the human woman who managed to undo the failing wards and remake them using her aunt's magic. I suppose they can be late. Their worlds haven't been turned upside down.

They finally arrive, casually stepping through the doors as a pair. Conall is a faehound, but he’s tall in his human form with mottled green skin, ivy winding through his green hair, pointed ears, and a tail. His claw-tipped hands wrap around the waist of his human mate while he smiles at her with his sharp teeth. Ivy gazes back at him with her hazel eyes, curly brown hair falling to her shoulders and freckles that look as though a paintbrush flung them across her skin.

Laz, whom I haven't been able to speak to privately yet, tiredly steps up to the podium. He’s worn thin around the edges, which is understandable, considering he spent twenty years singlehandedly holding the island’s wards together before watching Ivy remake them in one afternoon.

"We're here to discuss the recent alterations to the island," he starts. His eyes find mine for a second, but there's no accusation in them, just resignation. I don't understand why he isn't angrier. "As you know, the new wards have some quirks, and everything's a little different. We should start seeing more new monsters arriving on the island. The wards allow them in based on need, mating status, or if the island decides they're worthy or necessary. And as far as I can tell, new arrivals are not limited to monsters."

The crowd starts muttering. My jaw tightens before he even finishes the sentence.

"The wards are now open to humans if the island believes they may be mated to a resident or, again, simply if the island sees fit."

Humans. On the island. I grew up hearing horror stories about what humans do to monsters when they find us. My mother shared them with me so I'd stay close to home and never wander past the tree line. Now the island itself is deciding who gets to walk through the wards, and no one seems nearly bothered enough by that.