Let Andrew be the hero. It’s what he always wanted, why he decided to be a host in the first place.

“It’s too late,” Adam said. “He transferred back as soon as Andrew’s heart started beating.”

I hadn’t felt a thing. But I believed him anyway. I drew my knees up to my chest and lowered my head, hugging my knees to me and fighting despair.

“You bastards,” I said, but I didn’t think Adam could hear me. Lugh could. They’d let me believe that if Andrew survived, Lugh would stay with him, that I’d be free. That was as good as lying, in my book.

I really believe that if they’d explained what they were planning to do, I’d have gone along with the plan. I wouldn’t have liked it, but if I’d thought about the consequences of Andrew showing up still hosting a demon, I probably would have agreed that I had to take Lugh back.

But there’s always that hint of doubt.

Lugh can read all my thoughts and feelings. He knows me better than it’s possible for any human being to know another. And he chose not to tell me he planned to move back in. Does that mean that given the opportunity to get rid of him, I would have said To hell with the human race, just let me be free?

I don’t think that’s the case. I think Lugh didn’t clue me in because he couldn’t take the time to explain while Andrew lay dying. That’s what he tells me, though maybe he’s just telling me what I want to hear.

Adam picked up Andrew’s limp body and carried him to the car. He was going to have to do a lot of creative talking when he got my brother to the emergency room, but I was sure he’d manage.

And me? Yeah, I’d manage too, eventually. But I knew as long as Lugh was a part of me, my life would never be the same, would never be truly my own. And that was one hell of a depressing thought.

Brian was awake, but groggy, by the time I got to the hospital. Emotional coward that I am, I’d checked on Dominic first. Dom was doing fine-“just a flesh wound,” he’d joked-and would be out of the hospital in a day or two.

My throat ached, and something I might almost have called terror tightened my chest as I walked through the door into Brian’s room. I swear, if I’d seen condemnation in his eyes, I would have shattered into little pieces right there. Instead, he smiled weakly and held out his hand.

My throat was too tight for words, so I just took his hand and sat down beside him on the bed. His eyes were heavy with drugs- either the ones the bad guys had given him, or the ones the hospital had-and he didn’t seem inclined to talk.

I cleared my throat to try to loosen my voice. “I’m sorry,” I said. “About everything.”

Another weak smile, and he squeezed my hand. His voice sounded hoarse and dreamy. “No worries. It’s all over now.”

I did my best not to wince, because, of course, it was far from over. But I was going to make sure that for Brian, at least, it was. I had learned a hard lesson, and I wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice.

He was losing the battle against sleep, his eyes sliding shut then jerking open again as he desperately tried to stay awake. I was going to miss him more than I could possibly say.

“I love you,” I told him as his eyes closed once more. This time, they didn’t open again. I bent over and kissed him very gently on the lips. His eyelids fluttered, but that was all.

“I’ll always love you.”

When I was sure he was fast asleep, I slipped my hand out of his. I’d risked everything to save him, and I’d be damned if I let him get hurt because of me again. So I was going to be a big girl about this and do the right thing. I was going to let him go, even though he would never understand.

Even though it was going to hurt more than anything I’d ever done before in my life.

I paused in the doorway, looking back on his sleeping form. “Goodbye,” I whispered. Then I forced myself to walk away.