Book 1 of The Courts of Daemonium.
Alexander 'Xander' Duran, the world's first Lamia, has been in charge of the Courts of Daemonium for decades. After being turned into a shadow-wielding, blood-thirsty Daemon in 1649 by Lilith, his only purpose in h...
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The delicious aroma of freshly brewed coffee stirred Adriana from her sleep. She couldn't ignore the peaceful feeling that had grown over the last few days in Xander's cottage. She hated to admit it, but she slept so much better wrapped in the sheets that smelled like him. But she knew that at some point, whether today or tomorrow or in the weeks to come, she would have to go back to the real world, and all of this would feel like a dream. And she wanted to keep it as a dream, she didn't want to mix the sereness of life in the cottage with the cruelty of reality.
She searched her rucksack that Xander had brought with them, noticing her necklace in the side pocket and tucked it further in the bag. She looked for clothes that would be more comfortable than the jeans she had brought, but found nothing and decided to raid through Xander's clothes. She opened one of the drawers and pulled out one of his shirts, biting her lip as she contemplated whether she should wear it. With a huff she pulled it on, it fell to her mid thigh and she had to roll up the sleeves that were miles too long for. It would do, until she cleaned her clothes, it would have to do.
As she padded through the living room to the kitchen, her bare feet sinking into the soft rugs, she saw the sofa was still rumpled from where Xander had slept. He had let her use the bedroom whilst he slept on the sofa each night, but she noticed he always kept the living room door open.
They'd spent most days sitting on the porch of Xander's cottage, talking through her emotions and working on getting her control back. She felt like she was starting from rock bottom all over again, and often allowed herself to feel defeated before she'd even try. Xander knew she did that a lot, and he knew she needed someone to fight with if she wasn't able to fight herself. And so he fought for her, just as he had all those years ago, he brought that fight out of her. Whether it was by royally pissing her off, something he'd always been uniquely talented at, or by physically starting a fight so that she'd retaliate, he did whatever he could to bring her back to herself, to bring her strength back.
When she would finally turn on him, when she'd release her anger and pain of what he'd done to her, he took it all. She could hit him, scratch him, use her powers on him, and he would just stand there and whisper words of loving comfort to her until she was done. He still seemed to understand how to keep her balanced more than she did. Even after all this time, he knew her, he knew what she needed.
Adriana knew he needed to help her for his own reasons, too. He hated himself for what he did, he had never forgiven himself and likely never would. Although he never spoke of how he felt or what he had gone through, not wanting to burden her with anything else, she knew the toll it had taken on him. She could see it in the way she often found him staring at her, the mixed emotions of longing and heartbreak in his eyes, and sometimes the disbelief that she was really there.
She wanted to be there for him, but she couldn't yet. Even if he would let her, she couldn't take on the added weight of his despair, not while she was working tirelessly to come to terms with her own.
