Two months after finding Li Wei, threats emerged from an unexpected source.
"Asmodeus is stirring," Bael reported during a secure call. "He's been exiled, yes, but exile doesn't mean powerless. He's been making alliances in the demon dimension, gathering forces."
"For what?" Adrian asked.
"Revenge, presumably. He blames you for his downfall. When his thousand-year exile ends, he'll return with an army."
"That's nine hundred and ninety-eight years away. Why worry now?"
"Because demons don't work on your timeline. He's already sending agents—lesser demons who can cross dimensions—to destabilize your coalition, to plant seeds of discord that will bloom into chaos over centuries."
Adrian sighed. "So we have a long-term threat to manage on top of everything else."
"Welcome to immortality. Threats don't end—they just evolve."
Adrian reported this to the Congress, which formed a counter-demon task force. It was bureaucratic, tedious work—exactly the kind of thing Adrian hated about his coordinator role.
"I miss when my biggest problem was controlling bloodlust," Adrian complained to Kieran one evening.
"No you don't."
"Okay, I don't. But I miss when things were simpler."
"Things were never simple. You just had less responsibility."
Kieran was right, but that didn't make the work less exhausting. Adrian spent days in meetings, nights coordinating responses to demon incursions, and what little free time remained collapsed in exhausted sleep.
"You need a break," Kieran declared after watching Adrian fall asleep at his desk for the third time that week.
"I can't. There's too much—"
"There's always too much. The work will still be there after you rest." Kieran picked Adrian up effortlessly. "We're taking three days off. No Congress, no coordination, no responsibilities. Just us."
"We can't just disappear—"
"Watch me."
Kieran carried Adrian to their private jet—one of the benefits of immortal wealth—and they flew to a remote island in the Pacific. No inhabitants, no technology, just pristine beaches and crystal-clear water.
"This is kidnapping," Adrian protested without heat.
"This is self-care. There's a difference."
The island was perfect—isolated, beautiful, with a small cabin that had everything they needed. For three days, they existed outside the world's concerns.
They swam in the ocean (vampires could swim, contrary to popular myth). They made love on the beach under stars, Adrian's back pressed into warm sand while Kieran moved inside him with the rhythm of the waves.
"This is perfect," Adrian gasped, his legs wrapped around Kieran's waist, his hands clutching Kieran's shoulders.
"This is necessary," Kieran corrected, his pace increasing. "You were burning out. I won't allow that."
"Bossy vampire."
"Your bossy vampire."
They came together under the moonlight, their cries lost in the sound of surf. Afterward, they lay on the beach, sticky with saltwater and satisfaction.
"Thank you," Adrian said quietly. "For knowing what I needed."
"Always. I've spent a thousand years learning to read you. I'm not about to stop now."
They spent the rest of their vacation in blissful isolation—making love, talking, simply existing together without the weight of their responsibilities.
On their last evening, they sat on the cabin's porch watching the sunset.
"Do you ever regret it?" Adrian asked. "Waiting a thousand years for me? You could have moved on, found someone else, lived a different life."
"Every day," Kieran said, and Adrian's heart clenched until Kieran continued: "Every day I'm grateful I waited. Every day I thank whatever force in the universe brought you back to me. Every day I choose you again."
"That's impossibly romantic."
"I contain multitudes."
They made love one last time on the island, in their bed, slow and tender and perfect. Then they returned to Shanghai, to their responsibilities, to the complicated reality of coordinating supernatural species.
But they returned refreshed, reconnected, ready to face whatever came next.
Together.