“You know it’s not like that for him,” he says in a lecturing tone that reminds me of Xaden. “I’ve never seen him—” “Let’s not do this.” “—care like this—” “No really. Stop.” “—and that includes Catriona.” My gaze whips toward him. “Who the hell is Catriona?” He winces and presses his lips in a thin line. “What are the chances that you’ll forget I said that between here and Samara?” “None.” I stumble on a rock, or my feelings, but manage to catch my balance. Physically, at least. My thoughts? Those are tripping over themselves down the path of wondering who Catriona is. An older rider? Someone
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