Throne of Claw and Moon

Chapter 2

Selene

I showed up for the party.

Blame it all on Dave.

After that disaster of a dinner, anywhere was better than that museum of a house. Even a den of drunk twenty-year-olds.

If he hadn’t used the word normal on me, I probably would’ve stayed home and sulked instead of ending up here. But after that fight — the same one we seem to have every other week — I needed out. So when Chloe texted, I didn’t even think twice.

The bass was already vibrating through the pavement when we pulled up to Jack Walker’s house. Classic London townhouse, white columns, tall windows, big black iron gates — the kind that screamed old money. There were cars lined bumper to bumper on both sides of the street, and clusters of people stood on the driveway, cups in hand, laughing too loudly for what was only half past ten. Someone was making out right near the front steps like it was part of the decoration.

Chloe killed the engine and we got out.

“Charming,” I muttered.

“I know, right? It’s going to be epic,” Chloe said, completely missing my tone as she fluffed her hair. She looped her arm through mine, a gesture that felt more like being handcuffed to a tornado.

Chloe paused all of sudden, and gave me a look. “Sure you wanna go in?”

The question threw me of guard for a second, it was so unlike her to act this consigned about me.

I smirked anyway, flipping my hair over one shoulder. “I didn’t put on this dress for nothing.”

The Oscar de la Renta mini hugged me just right —sharp red, the kind that makes people move out of your way before you even ask. The Gucci boots gave me an extra inch or two, just enough to make up for confidence I didn’t totally feel.

We walked up the path, and as soon as I stepped inside, the smell hit me — a mix of expensive perfume, sweat, and spilled beer. The place was packed. Every inch of the living room throbbed with bodies and noise. Music blasted from wall-sized speakers — something fast with too much bass and not enough melody.

This was so Athelstan College, all the rich kids from high places pretending their parents’ names didn’t rule half the city. I could spot a few right away. Oliver Westwood, whose father owned half the lawyers in London, was by the bar laughing too hard with her weird friends. Then there was Emily Clarke, daughter of some MP who always ends up on the news about education reforms; she was trying to dance, but mostly she just waved her arms around like she was conducting an orchestra.

Across the room, someone had set up a “beer pong” table — two boys chanting over red cups — while a group of guys in varsity jackets hollered every time someone scored. On the couch, Jennifer Humphrey, a notorious pick me was lying back while Lewis Brown one of the rugby lads did lines of coke off her stomach. Classy.

Of course, people stared as we moved through the room. They always did. Chloe in her silver sequins, me in my blood-red dress—we were the main event, and everyone knew it.

I caught a few stares, a few whispers. Chloe’s smile went wicked, and I felt my own confidence slide back into place. We moved through the crowd like we belonged there — because we did. The music, the strobe lights, the faces turning to look — this was my territory, even if I pretended I was too cool for it half the time.

A boy I half-recognized from the swim team — something Bennett? — offered me a drink. I smiled, took it, and didn’t drink it.

It wasn’t that I liked these parties, really. It was more that they were predictable. I knew the rhythm, the look, the game. No one could tell that my hands still shook a little from the argument earlier, or that I’d been crying in the backseat just an hour ago. Here, under the lights, I could be Selene — the girl everyone stared at, not the girl whose stepdad yelled until his voice broke.

Chloe turned to me with that wild glitter in her eyes. “You’re not allowed to stand stiffly in the corner tonight,” she shouted over the music. “You’re having fun, Selene. That’s an order.”

I rolled my eyes. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

“That doesn’t count.” She grinned, grabbing my hand and twirling under the chandelier with a burst of laughter.

People around us had stopped dancing and were watching, but Chloe thrived on that sort of attention. She tossed her hair back, hips moving perfectly in time, trying to drag me into her orbit.

When I didn’t immediately follow, she gave me a playful frown. “Come on! One dance won’t kill you.”

Before I could answer, a tall guy with a rugby player’s build appeared out of nowhere. His grin was the friendly, slightly cocky kind—like he’d been rehearsing it in the mirror.

“Hey, Selene,” he said, leaning toward me so I could hear him. “Mind if I steal your friend for a minute?”

Before I even opened my mouth, Chloe slipped her hand into his and let herself be whisked away into the crowd. I watched them disappear into the music and then sighed, deciding I needed some air.

The balcony doors were like an escape hatch—quietly waiting, half-forgotten. I stepped outside and the chill of October rushed at me, sharp and clean, making me gasp a little. The night air was cool enough that I could see my breath. Below, the party stretched beyond the house—people laughing, shouting, and, unbelievably, a few were jumping into the pool. In October. Their screams were like fireworks—fizzling out against the wind and the dark water.

I was smiling at the absurdity when I realized I wasn’t alone.

Adrian Villin was there, leaning against the stone railing, a faint orange glow lighting one side of his face. A cigarette. The smoke drifted up, curling around him like it didn’t want to leave. His name, I’d learned at the beginning of the semester.

Everyone seemed to know of him, but I’d hardly ever seen him around.

The rumors were endless—his rich dad turn transgender and aristocratic mom, his five older brothers all infamous in their own ways, the kind of boys who ruled Athelstan college in their time and left a trail of stories and broken hearts.

Adrian, though, seemed different. Quiet where they were loud. Detached but not unfriendly. Mysterious in that slow, magnetic way that made people glance twice.

He wore a worn leather jacket and black jeans that looked lived-in, like they’d seen too many nights like this. His hair was dark, a little messy, falling over his forehead in a perfectly careless way. And his eyes—grey, maybe blue, hard to tell in the dim light—met mine, steady and calm. Girls threw themselves at him, or so I’d heard, but I’d hardly ever seen him with anyone. Chloe once said he was into older women. But standing there, under the cold night sky, I realized he didn’t need to chase attention; it seemed to find him on its own.

He glanced at me, then flicked his cigarette toward the edge of the balcony.

“Cold for October,” he said, voice low enough that it made the air feel heavier somehow.

“Tell that to the people in the pool,” I replied, hugging my arms.

He chuckled softly, a rough sound that felt too easy, too natural. “Yeah,” he said, “they’re either brave or stupid.”

I laughed, and he looked at me fully this time. There it was again—that feeling in my stomach, like something waking up after a long sleep. Butterflies, the kind I thought had died years ago.

He pulled out another cigarette, holding it between his fingers. “You smoke?”

“Sometimes,” I lied.

He smiled—barely. “Want one?”

I hesitated before taking it. When he leaned close to light it for me, the flame brushed across his face, and for a second, I saw the small scar near his jaw, faint but sharp, like a secret he didn’t want to talk about. I inhaled—and instantly regretted it. The smoke hit my throat like fire, and I started coughing so hard my eyes watered.

Adrian laughed. Really laughed this time. It wasn’t cruel—if anything, it was warm, amused, and somehow beautiful. The sound sent a strange heat racing through me.

“Easy there,” he said, taking the cigarette from my fingers before I could drop it. “You’re supposed to breathe, not die.”

“Thanks for the tip,” I managed, still coughing, eyes stinging.

He grinned, and for a second I thought I saw a flicker of something softer there—like he wasn’t used to anyone making him laugh.

“I think I need a drink,” I said when I finally caught my breath, trying to sound casual.

“Then go get one,” he replied, leaning back against the railing again.

That threw me a little. I don’t know why, but I half expected him to offer. Most guys would have. In fact, most guys would’ve sprinted inside just for the chance to be helpful. But not Adrian Wolfe. He didn’t play those games. He didn’t chase, didn’t flatter. Maybe that’s why people were drawn to him—because he didn’t seem to care if you were or not.

I nodded slowly, composing myself, and turned to go back inside. The warmth of the house hit me like a wave after the night air. Music pulsed again through the walls—deeper, louder now. I made my way toward the kitchen, but before I could cross the doorway, someone grabbed my wrist.

“Selene! There you are!” Chloe’s voice was bright, breathless, and she looked half drunk on energy alone. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you! Come on—the others are in the back!”

I blinked, still half in the fog of that balcony conversation. “Right,” I said. “Okay.”

We found our group holding court in the conservatory, an echoing glass palace where the music pulsed softer but still made the air thrum. It was the same cluster of people who haunted every party worth attending: Liam, heir to a shipping dynasty old enough to have its own museum wing; Isabella, whose father practically owned half the city’s prime real estate; and Mark, the newest millionaire in the room, still wearing the shine of fresh tech money like a badge.

Mark spotted me first. “Selene! Over here!” he called, his voice already stretched thin by alcohol. A grin split his flushed face as he stumbled over, clutching a half-empty beer. Before I could answer, he draped a heavy arm around my shoulders, the smell of hops and expensive cologne spilling over me like a fog. “Had a good talk with Adrian?”

I stared at him like he was dumb. He stared at me expectantly.

“Yeah. It was refreshing.” I muttered sarcastically.

He laughed loudly, too close to my ear. “Come on, drink something. Live a little!”

Those words—live a little—hit like a bruise. I’d heard them so many times from him. I’d smiled then, like it didn’t mean anything.

But now, standing in this humid room full of beer breath and borrowed charm, the phrase throbbed behind my temples.

The music wasn’t just loud anymore, it was invasive. Every beat crawled under my skin, syncing with my pulse. I could smell everything: the sweetness of Isabella’s perfume, the sour tang of spilled lager, the cloying scent of someone’s aftershave. The air felt too thick to breathe.

Mark’s arm tightened around me. What had been a friendly gesture now felt possessive, suffocating. The warmth of his body pressed against me; his damp sleeve stuck to my bare skin.

“Mark,” I said quietly, trying to pry his arm off. “Let go. I need a bit of air.”

“Aw, don’t run off just yet.” His tone shifted, a mocking lilt sneaking in. He gave me another squeeze, fingers digging in. “Relax. We’re all friends here.”

Something in his voice—the assumption, the entitlement—snapped whatever fragile restraint I had left. The buzzing in my head sharpened into a single, unbearable note.

“I said let go.”

The words came out loud—too loud. The music didn’t stop, but the space around us did. Heads turned. I saw confusion flicker across Liam’s face, a smirk die on Isabella’s lips.

Mark blinked, his drunken grin faltering. Then pride twisted his features. He leaned closer, his breath hot and sour. “Make me.”

The next moment unspooled in a blur.

He pulled again, rougher this time. Instinct took over. My hand came up between us, just a reflex—a shove meant only to create space. But the instant my palm met his chest, something moved through me.

I didn’t see it. Didn’t hear it. But I felt it. A surge, sharp and electric, bursting outward.

Mark flew back as if hit by an invisible current. His feet left the floor for half a heartbeat before he collided with a cluster of people near the glass doors. Plastic cups went flying; warm beer rained down. The sound of bodies stumbling and liquid splattering filled the silence that followed.

The conservatory froze. The music kept playing—some pop chorus looping in the background—but every face in our corner was turned toward me.

I couldn’t move. My arm hung suspended, my hand still extended like a weapon I didn’t remember picking up.

Mark sat up, blinking through wet strands of hair, soaked from head to toe. His expression twisted between shock and fury. “What the hell, Selene?”

No one laughed. No one spoke. Phones started to appear—small, glowing rectangles held up like talismans.

“Selene,” Chloe said softly from behind me. Her usual teasing tone was gone. Her eyes were wide, a strange, uneasy awe in them. “What did you just do?”

“I…” My throat closed. The words tangled on my tongue. “I didn’t— I just—”

But nothing I could say would make sense. Even I didn’t understand what had happened. The energy that had filled me moments ago was gone, leaving only emptiness and a cold, creeping dread.

The first flash went off—someone’s camera. That was enough.

I stumbled backward, muttering something I didn’t hear myself say, and pushed through the crowd. A few people tried to stop me, but I didn’t look at their faces. I just ran—through the kitchen, past the marble hallway, out a side door into the London night.

The air outside hit cold and clean. I kept running until my lungs burned and my pulse found its rhythm again. Eventually, I sank onto a bench in a small garden square, empty except for the whisper of trees and the silvery light of the moon.

For a while, I just sat there, shaking. The night pressed close and still around me, thick with the scent of damp earth and rain. I looked down at my hand—the same one that had touched Mark—and it trembled in the moonlight.

Whatever I had done, whatever had happened, it wasn’t normal. And for the first time in my carefully managed, perfectly polished life, I couldn’t pretend everything was fine.

In one heartbeat, I had shattered the illusion—of safety, of belonging, of control.

And now all I could feel was the quiet, terrifying hum of something I didn’t understand, alive beneath my skin.