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Finally, I look at his head, tamping down the bile.

It was a hollow point bullet based on the damage I can see. I don’t need to flip him over; this was confirmation enough.

There’s no coming back from this. I’d ensured that when I picked the box of ammunition. For myself or another vampire, it had to be deadly.

Carefully, I walk around him, and I nearly retch when I notice the blood and gore splattered all over the stairwell. The blanket I pull from the sofa is almost still warm, and it smells of Roman. Gently, I cover Remy’s body with it. I pick up my gun, opening the tip-up barrel to confirm. It’s empty, and this was all my fucking fault.

I’m shaking, and I don’t know what to do. How do I tell Roman that my gun killed his little brother? That he’s dead for real this time, and I can’t bring him back?

Hanging my head, I move slowly toward the back of the house, and I’m grateful to see that Margot has turned Roman away from the window. They’re sitting on the edge of the deck, and she’s rubbing a soothing hand over his back. Zuul is curled up against him, and I think he deserves my dog more than I do. One foot in front of the other, I bring myself closer to breaking news to him that I wouldn’t wish upon anyone.

I brought his brother back to life for him once, but I can’t undo this.

When the door opens, Roman speaks. His voice is rough and raw and thick and it undoes me.

“He’s gone.”

It’s not a question, but a statement.

“Yes,” I confirm, holding my breath.

“How?” he asks, and when I sniffle, his back straightens. “Your gun?”

“I’m so sorry, Roman. I didn’t?—”

“But how?”

Margot looks over her shoulder at me, devastated, and I wish I could go back in time. I wish Agnarr had killed me and I never came here.

“The tip-up barrel. It had a single shot.”

“Hollow point?”

“Yeah,” I breathe, and he simply nods.

“It wasn’t an attempt then,” he says. “He knew it would succeed.”

“What?” Margot asks.

“I compelled him not to attempt suicide.”

My heart breaks right in fucking two.

I stand there, a few steps behind him, unable to bring myself to sit beside him. How can I? I can’t be at his side after bringing him this pain. I can’t fix this. My entire life, I’ve desired what Remy just took for himself—just to ease the ache I’ve caused. Free-falling from the compound, I decided I can’t blame my existence anymore. That I can’t carry the weight of all the harm inflicted upon us. But no sooner than I got here, my actions took Roman’s brother away from him.

“I’ll make some calls,” Margot says, standing and giving me a meaningful look before walking to the other side of the deck. She wants me to comfort Roman, and I don’t know how. Not when I caused this. Not when a quiet part of me envies his brother.

Not when I know I can’t fucking look him in the eye.

“I should go,” I say, though I have no idea where I’ll go with Agnarr after me. A hotel, perhaps.

Roman says nothing. Not when I place a hand on his shoulder. Not when I step into the yard and head toward the gate. Not when Zuul whimpers.

And a few minutes later, when I’m getting into the car, I’m grateful he didn’t follow me and put himself in danger.

“Drive, hybrid,” comes a woman’s voice from the seat behind me, and the crackle of magic in the air has me pressing in the clutch and slipping the Chevelle into gear.

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