Monsters in the Moonlight

The ballroom pulsed with a cold, blue light, like being submerged deep underwater.

Crystal chandeliers dripped from the ceiling like captured jellyfish, casting fragmented, shimmering patterns across the faces of the guests.

Everyone wore masks of polite interest, their voices a low murmur of fake pleasantries, champagne glasses held like tiny, glittering weapons.

Sharks in expensive suits and shimmering gowns circled each other, sniffing for weakness, hungry for gossip.

And I was the fresh bait, tossed into their feeding frenzy.

My dress, chosen by Emily under Sebastian's cold instruction, felt like an itchy costume – elegant, yes, but utterly alien against my skin.

It was silver, sequined, clinging in ways that made me constantly aware of how I stood, how I moved.

I clutched my champagne flute like a life raft in this glittering, treacherous sea.

Then she appeared, parting the crowd like Moses parting the Red Sea, or perhaps more accurately, like a great white gliding towards its prey.

Claire Devereux.

Sebastian's ex-girlfriend.

A notorious businesswoman known for her ruthlessness.

And tonight's hostess.

She wore a deep V-neck fishtail gown the colour of blood coral, diamonds dripping from her ears and throat, her smile sharp and predatory.

She stopped directly in my path, blocking my tentative escape towards a less crowded corner.

Her eyes, the colour of glacial ice, swept over me from head to toe, lingering just a fraction too long on the simplicity of my borrowed necklace compared to her own blinding jewels.

"Well, well," her voice was smooth, coated in honey, but with an underlying bitterness that pricked the air.

"If it isn't Sebastian's newest little… acquisition."

Her perfectly sculpted lips curved, but the smile didn't reach her eyes.

It felt like a physical blow, those words, designed to diminish, to label me as a temporary possession.

Around us, conversations seemed to lull, ears straining subtly, sidelong glances darting our way like minnows sensing danger.

"I must admit," Claire continued, tilting her head, the diamonds scattering sharp points of light, "I'm terribly curious."

She leaned in slightly, her perfume – something heavy and exotic, like night-blooming flowers mixed with venom – clouding my senses.

"How long do you think you'll actually last?"

My hand tightened instinctively around the stem of my champagne flute.

A strange coldness radiated outwards from my fingers.

I watched, oddly detached, as a delicate, intricate pattern of frost bloomed across the condensation on the glass surface.

Like winter lace suddenly appearing in the humid ballroom air.

The chill seeped into my skin, sharp and startling.

Unconsciously, I had let my control slip.

Across the room, through a gap in the crowd, I saw Sebastian.

He hadn't seemed to be looking, engrossed in a conversation with some portly man dripping with gold rings.

But now, his head was tilted almost imperceptibly.

His eyes, dark and unreadable from this distance, narrowed slightly.

A flicker of intense focus tightened his features before smoothing out again.

He'd heard her.

Even over the din of the party, he'd heard every poisonous word.

Claire's icy gaze flickered down to the frosting glass in my hand, a flicker of something – surprise? Annoyance? – crossing her face before she masked it.

She clearly thought my reaction was fear.

Let her.

She pressed on, her voice regaining its mocking sweetness.

"I heard," she said, casually examining her own perfectly manicured nails, a massive diamond catching the light on her ring finger, making it flash obnoxiously, "that you used to be a… maid?"

She let the word hang there, laden with disdain.

"How… fitting."

She looked up at me then, expecting me to crumble, to blush, to stammer.

The whispers around us intensified slightly, like rustling seaweed stirred by a current.

I saw pity in some eyes, malicious glee in others.

But the flash of anger, the unexpected coldness from the glass, had somehow… steadied me.

Maybe it was the memory of Victoria's sneering face.

Maybe it was the weeks of Emily's relentless training.

Or maybe… it was something else waking up inside me.

I met Claire's gaze directly.

And I smiled.

A small, slow smile, deliberately gentle.

"Yes, I was," I replied, my voice surprisingly calm and even.

"It taught me a lot, actually."

I paused, letting the anticipation build, feeling the eyes on us.

"I got very good," I continued, still smiling sweetly, my gaze deliberately sweeping over Claire's expensive gown, her flashing jewels, her perfectly constructed facade, "at cleaning up… unwanted… trash."

Silence.

Absolute, ringing silence for a heartbeat.

Then, a smothered giggle erupted from a nearby cluster of socialites behind their manicured hands.

Someone else choked on their champagne.

Eyes widened.

A ripple of shocked amusement spread through the immediate vicinity.

Claire's perfectly painted smile froze, then cracked.

Her face flushed a blotchy red beneath her flawless makeup.

Her eyes blazed with pure, unadulterated fury.

I saw her perfectly manicured hand, the one not holding her own champagne flute, clench into a fist at her side.

Her knuckles went white.

Her short, sharp nails dug deeply into her own palm.

So deeply that I saw tiny, dark beads of blood well up against her pale skin.

But then… something strange happened.

The bleeding… just… stopped.

Almost instantly.

The tiny wounds seemed to close themselves up right before my eyes, leaving only faint red marks that were already fading.

My breath caught. That wasn't normal.

My gaze flickered across the room again towards Sebastian.

He was trying, very obviously, to smooth his expression into one of polite indifference.

But the corners of his lips were twitching uncontrollably.

He was fiddling with the heavy, black onyx ring on his pinky finger, turning it around and around.

A nervous habit? Or an attempt to distract himself?

Then I heard it – a faint, almost imperceptible creak of stressed metal.

His fingers had tightened on the ring.

The thick, solid band of metal… looked slightly… bent.

Deformed by the sheer force of his grip.

He quickly snatched his hand away, shoving it into his pocket, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face – annoyance at himself, at his momentary loss of control.

The power simmering beneath his cool facade was terrifying.

And apparently, easily provoked by my small victory.

I needed to get away.

The air around Claire felt toxic, charged with her silent fury.

Murmuring a vague excuse, I slipped away from her, melting back into the crowd.

My heart was still pounding, a mixture of triumph and fear churning inside me.

I found myself drawn towards the far end of the ballroom, where massive floor-to-ceiling aquariums lined the walls, casting moving patterns of light and shadow.

Giant tanks filled with exotic, colourful fish gliding through artificial reefs.

It was the only part of this stifling party that felt remotely calming.

I stopped in front of one of the largest tanks, watching a school of silver fish dart and weave through waving fronds of artificial coral.

The constant, fluid motion was hypnotic.

Without thinking, I reached out, pressing my fingertips lightly against the cool, thick glass.

A strange tingling sensation spread up my arm.

A sense of connection.

A silent hum resonated deep within my chest.

And then, the impossible happened.

Every single fish in that massive tank – hundreds of them, different species, different sizes – stopped swimming randomly.

As one, in perfect, eerie unison, they turned.

Their collective, unblinking eyes focused directly on me.

They hung there, suspended in the water, fins barely moving, a silent, aquatic army awaiting orders.

My breath hitched.

What was happening?

A shiver traced its way down my spine, colder than the frost on the champagne glass.

The fish remained frozen, staring.

A wave of dizziness washed over me.

This strange energy… it felt immense, overwhelming.

I snatched my hand back from the glass as if burned.

The moment my fingers left the surface, the connection broke.

The fish instantly scattered, resuming their random, darting movements as if nothing had happened.

But it had happened.

I had felt it.

I glanced around nervously, wondering if anyone else had noticed.

Most guests were oblivious, lost in their conversations and champagne.

But then my eyes caught a flicker of movement in the reflection on the aquarium glass.

Further down the wall, partially obscured by a large potted palm.

It was Claire.

She wasn't looking directly at me, pretending to admire the fish in another tank.

But she held her phone discreetly angled in my direction.

I saw the faint red light blink – the tell-tale sign of a camera recording.

Had she seen it?

Had she captured that impossible moment?

A cold dread trickled down my spine.

What if she knew? What if she suspected?

Later, reviewing the photos on her phone, Claire would zoom in on the image of Elara's hand against the glass. The resolution wasn't perfect, but under the strange blue light of the aquarium, there was an undeniable, faint shimmer on her fingertips. Like nascent, translucent scales catching the light.

The ride back from the gala was suffocatingly silent.

The air inside the limousine felt thick with unspoken questions, with the charged energy of the evening's confrontations and revelations.

Sebastian sat across from me, staring out the window at the blurred city lights, his face an unreadable mask in the darkness.

The faint scent of his cologne mixed with the lingering smell of Claire's perfume from the party, a discordant combination.

I fidgeted with the clasp of the ornate, sea-themed brooch pinned to my dress – another loaner, probably costing more than my entire previous life's earnings.

It felt heavy, ostentatious.

My mind raced, replaying the scene at the aquarium, Claire's spying phone, Sebastian's bent ring, his unnervingly sharp hearing.

And Claire's instantly healing hand.

What was he? What was she?

What was I?

An idea sparked, reckless and dangerous.

I needed to know.

I needed confirmation.

My fingers fumbled with the brooch clasp, "accidentally" unfastening it as the car hit a small bump.

The heavy brooch tumbled from my dress.

"Oops!" I exclaimed, maybe a little too loudly.

I leaned forward, pretending to search for it on the floor between us.

As I reached down, my hand deliberately brushed against his, where it rested on the leather seat.

The sharp pin of the brooch, held loosely in my fingers, "accidentally" scraped across the back of his hand.

Not deep. Just enough to break the skin.

"Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry!" I gasped, pulling my hand back quickly, feigning mortification. "Did I scratch you?"

I looked up at him, trying to appear genuinely concerned, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird.

In the dim light filtering in from the streetlights, I saw it clearly.

A thin red line appeared on the back of his hand.

A single bead of dark blood welled up.

He didn't flinch. Didn't even react.

He just slowly lifted his hand, bringing it closer to his face, examining the scratch with unnerving calmness.

And then, I watched, breathless, as the impossible happened again.

One second… two seconds… three seconds…

The thin red line faded.

The bead of blood retracted, vanished.

The skin smoothed over, leaving absolutely no trace of injury.

Perfectly healed. Unblemished.

As if the scratch had never existed.

My breath caught in my throat.

He slowly lowered his hand, his gaze locking onto mine in the heavy darkness of the car.

The streetlights outside briefly illuminated his face, and I saw it again, clearer this time.

A fleeting, terrifying flash in his eyes.

They weren't just dark.

For a split second, they seemed to glow with an internal light, a molten gold, and the pupils… they elongated, becoming sharp vertical slits.

Like a cat's. Or a wolf's.

The inhuman glint vanished as quickly as it appeared, leaving only his usual dark, intense stare.

But I had seen it.

The temperature inside the car seemed to plummet several degrees.

The air crackled with tension.

"Satisfied?" His voice was dangerously soft, a low rumble that vibrated through the confined space.

He knew. He knew I'd done it on purpose.

He knew I was testing him.

I swallowed hard, forcing a shaky, amazed laugh.

"Wow," I stammered, trying to play dumb, trying to hide the cold dread mixing with terrifying fascination coiling in my stomach.

"That's… quite a trick."

"I didn't know CEOs learned magic these days."

He didn't smile.

He just continued to hold my gaze in the oppressive darkness, the silence stretching between us, thick with unspoken secrets.

I could hear the soft whisper of his breathing, feel the intensity of his stare like a physical touch.

We were two predators circling each other in the dark, each suddenly aware of the other's hidden teeth and claws.

He didn't drive me back to the penthouse.

Instead, the limousine pulled up alongside a deserted stretch of coastline, far from the city lights.

The driver cut the engine, plunging us into near-total darkness, the only illumination coming from a sliver of moon hanging low in the sky.

The only sound was the rhythmic crash of waves against the shore.

Sebastian got out without a word, leaving the door open for me.

Hesitantly, I followed.

The night air was cool, damp, tasting of salt.

Why had he brought me here?

He started walking towards the water's edge, and I found myself trailing behind him, drawn by an invisible current.

The sand was cool beneath my borrowed heels. Impulsively, I kicked them off, letting my bare feet sink into the damp sand near the water line.

The cold shock of the receding waves washing over my ankles felt… good. Grounding.

Alive.

I walked further in, letting the water swirl around my calves, closing my eyes, breathing in the wild, untamed scent of the ocean at midnight.

A strange energy surged through me, a connection to the vast, dark water stretching out before me.

It felt like coming home.

And then I felt it – a shift in the power, a gathering force.

The rhythmic crashing of the waves changed.

It grew louder, deeper, more powerful.

My eyes snapped open.

Before me, under the pale moonlight, the ocean was rising.

A wave, far larger than any before it, was swelling up, growing into a towering wall of black water, blotting out the horizon.

It roared, a deafening, primal sound that vibrated through the sand, through my bones.

Fear surged, but beneath it, something else stirred – recognition. Power.

The colossal wave surged towards the shore, towards me.

It looked like it would crash down, obliterate everything.

But then… it stopped.

Just feet away from where I stood, knee-deep in the churning foam.

The towering wall of water held its form, trembling with contained power.

And then, impossibly, the crest of the wave began to curl inwards.

Downwards.

Like a giant head bowing in deference.

A gesture of impossible, terrifying obeisance.

The ocean itself was bowing to me.

"Elara!"

Sebastian's voice cracked through the roar of the water, sharp with something I couldn't identify – fear? Awe? Anger?

His hand shot out, clamping around my wrist like a manacle.

His grip was iron-strong, almost painful.

He yanked me backwards, stumbling out of the churning water, away from the impossibly bowing wave.

He spun me around to face him, his hands gripping my upper arms, his eyes wild in the dim moonlight.

The golden, slitted pupils flashed again, stark and undeniable in his pale face.

"What are you?" he demanded, his voice hoarse, shaking with the force of the question, the force of what he had just witnessed.

The bowing wave behind me slowly subsided, collapsing back into the churning sea with a final, deep sigh.

The raw power of the ocean still thrummed in my veins.

The secrets we both held hung heavy in the salty air between us.

There was no point hiding anymore. Not from him. Not after this.

I looked up into his terrifying, inhuman eyes.

My own eyes felt strange, burning, swirling with the power of the tide I had just commanded.

"I'm the same thing you are, Sebastian," I whispered, the words tasting of salt and seafoam and newfound, terrifying truth.

I held his gaze, letting him see the raw power reflected there.

"… A monster."

Far down the deserted beach, hidden amongst jagged, shadowy rocks, Claire Devereux lowered a pair of expensive, military-grade night-vision binoculars.

A triumphant, cruel smile spread across her face.

She pulled out her satellite phone, the signal strong even here.

She dialled a number from memory.

The call connected almost instantly.

"Elder," she reported, her voice crisp and cold, devoid of any emotion except chilling satisfaction.

"I've found her."

"The heir of Poseidon is confirmed."