“She chose him,” the sluagh whispered. “She will always choose him. He is better. No matter what you do, what you accomplish, he will always be better. That pretty face of yours? Merely genetics. That brain? His works a tiny bit faster. Your success? An MBA on the fast track to leader of a motorcycle gang?” She laughed. “Not exactly Eden’s idea of a life partner. Whatever Gabriel’s reputation, he has a legitimate career. He has the success and the stock portfolio to show for it. You might be able to make a decent down payment on a condo…half as good as the one he bought outright when he wasn’t much older than you. But all of that isn’t nearly as important to Olivia as sheer strength of character. And that is where he beats you, hands down. He rose from nothing. Endured neglect and abuse and abandonment. And you? Your mommy left you, too…and let your adoring daddy take you, while she remained part of your life. As childhood traumas go? Negligible compared to his.”

The sluagh leaned into his ear as he watched Gabriel. “Don’t you just want to wipe that arrogance off his face? Wouldn’t you like to see how confident he looks when he realizes he’s lost? All those years ago, he took her from you. Stole her. He allowed her to die rather than let her even remain friends with you. He doesn’t deserve her. You do.”

Ricky kept staring. He thought of all the times Gabriel had betrayed Liv. All the times he’d hurt her. Ricky had never done that.

Arawn had never done that, either. It’d been Gwynn. Gwynn broke his vow and wooed Matilda and then made another vow, that if she went to Arawn, he could have her.

So arrogant. So cocky. So sure of his success. Just like Gabriel.

“Exactly,” the sluagh whispered. “That is exactly right.”

No, it’s not, a voice whispered, deep in his mind.

The scene blurred. A smell wafted past, out of place here, and Ricky inhaled. Horse? He sniffed deeper, not trusting his senses. Horse and hay and dung.

He heard a skritch-skritch, and when his vision cleared, he was grooming a coal-black stallion, brushing it a little too hard, the beast’s ears twitching in complaint.

“Sorry isn’t enough,” said a voice behind him. “Sorry can never be enough. I realize that.”

He kept brushing.

“I made a vow,” the voice continued. “It doesn’t matter if I thought you weren’t interested in her—”

“Not interested?”

He dropped the brush and spun to face the speaker, a young man, mid-twenties, fair-haired and blue-eyed. Even if Ricky didn’t recognize Gabriel in that face—particularly the expression, gaze downcast, contrite, even cowed—he knew it was Gwynn.