The penthouse was ridiculous.
Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking all of Shanghai, furniture that looked like it belonged in a museum, art on the walls that Adrian was pretty sure he'd seen in his art history textbooks. Everything was sleek, modern, and absolutely devoid of personality.
Except for one painting.
Adrian stopped in front of it, his breath catching in his throat. It was old—centuries old, by the looks of it—and it showed two young men in medieval clothing, sitting under a willow tree. One had dark hair and was laughing at something the other said. The other had lighter hair and was looking at his companion with such open adoration that it made Adrian's chest ache.
"That's..." Adrian trailed off, his hand reaching out before he could stop himself. "Why do I feel like I've seen this before?"
Behind him, Kieran's voice was rough. "Because you have. You were there when it was painted."
Adrian spun around. "What?"
Kieran moved closer, and Adrian became acutely aware of how much taller the vampire was, how easily he could break him in half. But instead of fear, Adrian felt something else. Something warm and familiar and completely inexplicable.
"A thousand years ago, we were both human," Kieran said softly. "We grew up together in a small village. We were best friends, then more than friends. We were going to run away together, build a life where we could be ourselves without fear."
"That's impossible," Adrian whispered, but his heart was pounding.
"You were killed because of me," Kieran continued, and his voice cracked. "Murdered by my father when he discovered what we were to each other. I made a deal with a witch in my grief—immortality, so I could wait for your soul to return. But the curse had a price. Every night, my heart would ache with the pain of losing you. Every night, for a thousand years, until you came back."
Adrian's knees went weak. He sat down hard on the nearby sofa. "This is insane. You're insane. I'm going insane—"
"Look at me," Kieran commanded, kneeling in front of him. He took Adrian's hands, and the touch sent electricity shooting up Adrian's arms. "Look into my eyes and tell me you don't feel it. Tell me you don't dream of a life you've never lived. Tell me you don't wake up crying sometimes, mourning someone you've never met."
Adrian's breath hitched because he did. He'd had those dreams for as long as he could remember. A boy with dark hair and gray eyes, laughing in sunlight. The same boy screaming as strong hands pulled them apart. Blood on the ground. Pain. Loss. A love that transcended death itself.
"Elias," Adrian whispered, and he didn't know why he said that name. "You called me Elias."
Kieran's eyes filled with tears—actual tears, from a thousand-year-old vampire—and he brought Adrian's hands to his lips. "Yes. That was your name. And I have waited for you for ten centuries. I would wait ten thousand more."
Adrian's mind was screaming at him to run, but his heart—his traitorous, stupid heart—was singing.