Maeve
“This is at least the fourth time I’ve died for you–or almost died for you,” Troy said weakly as Cleo rolled a bandage over his chest. “You’re going to marry me.”
“Okay,” I whispered, my mouth trembling as I smiled, and my eyes welled with tears. I looked from his face to his chest, which was moving up and down as he breathed.
He was breathing. He was alive.
And he had a moonstone.
Keaton was sniffling behind us, Myla murmuring reassurances in his ear as she stroked his back with her head pressed against his shoulder.
I’d had a strained relationship with Keaton since the day I met him. I thought he was ornery and arrogant, and I would continue to think that, but kneeling on the beach with him while Troy died in front of us had cemented an intimate type of relationship betwee
