But surviving wasn't living.
Kieran withdrew from the world. He stopped managing his business, stopped interacting with other vampires, stopped caring about the politics and power games of supernatural society.
He locked himself in the sanctuary—the home he'd built for Adrian, filled with memories of their brief time together.
Adrian's clothes still hung in the closet. His books sat on the nightstand. His scent, faint but present, lingered in the fabrics.
Kieran surrounded himself with these remnants, torturing himself with memories.
He stopped feeding regularly. Stopped sleeping. A vampire couldn't starve to death, but he could weaken himself to the point of near-catatonia.
Marcus forced him to feed, bringing him blood, practically pouring it down his throat.
"You're killing yourself slowly," Marcus said. "This isn't what Adrian would want."
"Adrian is dead!" Kieran roared, the first real emotion he'd shown in months. "Don't tell me what he'd want! He wanted to live! He wanted our forever! And I failed him!"
"You didn't fail him. He chose to save you. He chose love over survival."
"Then his choice was stupid." But even as Kieran said it, he knew it was a lie. If their positions had been reversed, he would have done the same. Would have died a thousand times to save Adrian.
That's what made it unbearable.