I looked at the bracelet again.
“You did.”
The fire crackled in the distance.
Someone laughed. Amber maybe. Then Edge’s lower voice answered, and Regan said something sharp enough to make Tarak bark out a laugh.
They were close.
Too close.
Not close enough.
Dylan looked toward the sound.
“I should go.”
“Don’t.”
The word came out too fast.
He looked back at me.
The want in his face nearly knocked the breath out of me.
For one second, I thought he might kiss me.
I wanted him to.
I wanted it with an ache so clean and sharp it scared me.
Instead, he took my hand—the one with the bracelet—and lifted it to his mouth.
He kissed my knuckles.
Not my lips.
My knuckles.
A birthday kiss that felt more intimate because he had chosen restraint again.
“Happy birthday, Destiny,” he said against my skin.
My name.
Not Beautiful.
Destiny.
Like he was giving me back to myself.
Then he let go.
I stood there with diamonds in my ears, mother-of-pearl on my wrist, saltwater drying on my skin, and a heart that felt too big for my body.
Dylan stepped backward into the shadows.
“Dylan?”
