December 5, 2023
Elochian Adrastus is the pinnacle of demon nobility, and he hates it.
When he’s not leading an aristocracy, in therapy, or rebelling against his birthright by running the most famous bar in Levena, he’s solving a millennia old mystery with his newfound friends. He’s particularly fond of the man he’s only known as an author, learning that there’s much more to the human than meets the eye.
For the first time in over a century, Elochian feels tempted by the prospect of finding his own happy ending. He’s also terrified that any future endeavors will end in death, like they did not so long ago.
Quentin Matsdotter has one goal in life, and that’s to blend in. Unfortunately for him, that’s impossible when you’re a certifiable genius, an author, and are friends with some of the most unique people in the town. He’s got everything a man could want, except for someone to call his own.
Quentin hasn’t been able to trust his heart to anyone again after experiencing an abusive relationship years ago, but there’s no mistaking how he feels for the enigmatic archdemon. As the snow builds, so does their friendship, and it’s only a matter of time before they open their hearts to each other.
If only the past didn’t come back to haunt them.
Be prepared to stand up for what you believe in, reveal the truth, and protect those you love, no matter the cost.
Want a sneak peek? Keep reading!
Unedited Excerpt from Matsdotter and Adrastus
Quentin
Despite the fact Arlo now technically owns Shh too, (along with many other businesses, but he firmly insists he doesn’t own them, simply manages) not much has changed. The staff is the same, and so is the dark and eccentric decor. Enormous, intricate terrariums house gadol skulls, while others are home to giant snails with beautifully marked shells, my worst nightmare.
There’s only one crucial difference.
On a stretch of wall beside the arch bookcase is a framed photograph of Thatch, which is what has captured Elochian’s attention. It’s a candid photo of the man standing in the yard at Cas and Bias’ house, hands in his pockets and a laugh pulling at his lips. It’s from the night we all spent together, Kitt took the picture. A small plaque rests beneath the silver frame.
‘Thatcher Gaillot, also known as Thatch Phantom, has been the owner of Shh Elves for 437 years.’ Elochian stares at the words inscribed there, then looks over his shoulder upon sensing my approach. He’s carrying two disposable cups, and the fingers of his right hand are multitasking, clutching at a black paper bag. His coat is slung over one arm, and to say he looks like a pack mule would be an understatement.
He holds out the cup that comes with the bag, his smile wavering. “I haven’t eaten breakfast yet, and I figured there was a good chance you haven’t yet either. I got muffins for both of us. Don’t feel obligated to eat, though.”
“You’re not wrong. Thank you.” I take a sip, then groan at the warm, heavenly apple cinnamon after it flows down my throat. Shyly, I look up to him. “Did they have—”
Elochian grins. “Banana with chocolate chips? Yes.”
An uncalled for surge of affection comes upon me, and I fight the urge to run away from it. “You’re the best.”
“I don’t know about that. What did Arlo have to say? Looks like his books are ready.”
“Books? Oh, right.” I hand Elochian back his phone, looking over at Michael who gives us a little wave. “Are you in a hurry? Maybe we could … eat together? It’s been awhile.”
Elochian smiles, and it warms me up more than the cider ever could.
“I’d like that. But let’s go back here.”
We walk through the archway side by side, and pass through the main aisles between books. Elochian seems to be on the hunt, so I follow him until he picks a seemingly random reading nook. The small space is like an alcove, curtained off with navy brocade drapes. There’s bench seats separated by a table, and a narrow window which provides a view of nothing but snow.
We sit across from each other, and thankfully Elochian wastes no time unveiling breakfast. Or lunch. I blink a few times. “What time is it?”
“One twenty-five. Or one thirty,” Elochian says without looking at his phone. He offers both muffins to me, and I take the one in his right hand.
“Really? It doesn’t feel that late. You didn’t even look.”
Elochian gives me one of his signature dry glares. “It’s a superpower,” he says seriously, then bites into his muffin. I’m temporarily distracted by his fangs elongating as his mouth widens, and I abruptly drag my attention to my own food.
We eat in content silence, and after I finish my muffin I take a long drink of my cider. When I finish, I find Elochian watching me with rapt intensity, his body practically frozen. “What?”
Slowly, he leans forward and wipes the corner of my mouth with his thumb. Air catches in my throat, which startles Elochian from his daze. “You had chocolate on your face.” He leans back, wiping his hand off on his pants.
Distantly, I think of how much a shame that is.
“Oh. Thanks.”
“How … how is your writing going?” Elochian starts off slow, then seems to have recomposed himself by the end of his question. In a more teasing tone, he says, “Your message was exceptionally interesting. I thought you were working on a holiday romance or something.”
I wave him off, cheeks flushed. “I was, but that’s not what I was working on last night. I was rambling, and it was late. I’m not sure if any of it will be any good.” I take a sip of my cider, which does nothing to calm the jittery feeling in my heart. When Elochian doesn’t say anything, simply stares at me expectantly, I say, “It’s … different, from what I normally write.”
He leans ahead once more, elbows resting on the table. His cup is centered between his loosely clasped hands, which are at the perfect halfway point between him and me. The candles in the antlered candelabra flicker, illuminating the golden lines embedded into his cheekbones, and a certain look in his deep brown eyes that I don’t see very often. I don’t have a name for it, but I wish that I did.
My own hands are inches from his, my tainted fingertips gently drum the table in a familiar pattern. My cup of cider rests forgotten off to the side. When did that happen?
He says, “Tell me.”
My fingers pause their drumming, and I take a moment to breathe.
Elochian Adrastus’ full attention is all encompassing. Something I secretly wish for, and can never handle when I have it.
I exhale, mentally preparing to word vomit and doing my best to prevent it.
With much more shyness than I would have if I were telling Elochian the plot to my usual romance, I say, “Most people don’t have a great whirlwind romance that’s an end all, be all. Or maybe they did, in the beginning, but for one reason or another it didn’t work out. But that doesn’t … that doesn’t make those relationships less important. A person’s first may not be their last, but that doesn’t take away from the impact of that first love.”
“Like a stepping stone,” Elochian says quietly, watching me intensely.
“Right, yeah. That’s the bit I was working on last night. I don’t have all the pieces, just a vague idea. A character, kind of. I don’t know, I think we need more stories that focus on the big picture. The stepping stones, and the person they bring you to.”
Elochian smiles, then looks away. The movement hollows me out, and I have no idea why. When he looks back, there’s that safety guard. He’s still paying attention to me, but there’s … I don’t know, distance. He says, “I like it. I think you’re onto something.”
And then he changes everything. His fingers twitch, and his black painted nails trace against the back of my own fingers.
Breathlessly, I ask, “You think so?”
“You always are. Why stop trusting your gut now? It’s a different audience, but why not?”
“Why not … right.”
In a moment of rare courage, I slide my fingers in the spaces between his. Elochian’s breathing is the loudest thing in the room, second only to my racing heart. His endless dark eyes are fixated on our hands, but they jump to mine when I whisper, “I missed you, too.”
“What?” He asks, fingers tightening, locking mine into place. For the first time in over a week, I feel grounded again.
“First thing this morning, or whenever it was, you said you missed me. I missed you, too. I didn’t realize how much I’d gotten used to seeing you in the morning, until you weren’t there anymore.”
“I … I feel that way, too.” Elochian steals a deep breath from the intimate space between us. There’s only the softly glowing candelabra overhead, the snow trapped against the window, and the old table between us. The curtains hide us from the rest of the place, and I’ve never been more certain that this is the time. A vague sort of desperation alights my nerves, like this might be the only chance I’ll ever have to tell Lochian how I feel.
“Lochian, I care about you, and there’s something I wanted to ask you—”
“Quentin, I—”
Michael parts the curtains, startling both of us. Elochian’s hand jerks away from mine, and for a moment mine remains outstretched, reaching for him. Stiffly, Michael says, “I apologize Sir, but there’s a problem. Code Green.”
Elochian sighs, then stands and straightens the sleeves of his shirt, a move that would be much more impressive if it were a suit instead of a cashmere sweater. “I’m surprised we had this long. I’ll be right there, give us a moment, please.”
“Of course,” Michael says, then takes off.
“You’re leaving?” I ask, standing with shaky knees. I feel robbed, empty. Cold.
Elochian takes a step towards me. “I’m afraid so. But Misfits night is in a few days, I’ll see you. I promise.”
Then, he surprises me.
He reaches forward, and his fingertips skim the side of my throat. He leans in, and I’m helpless to do anything but allow him to gently pull me closer. Elochian Adrastus kisses my cheek, then leaves me behind with a word.
And then I’m left all alone, absorbing the fleeting heat in my cheek with lipstick stained fingers.
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