Chapter 17
Lirael
The Moon Hall's main ballroom had settled back into its rhythm after Victoria's spectacular exit, conversations flowing around me like water while I stood near the windows nursing sparkling water and mentally cataloging exit routes.
Ten forty-five. Time to get the hell out before Sebastian realizes I've been gone this long.
Victoria's humiliation had already spread through the room—three separate groups discussing her "drunken fall" with the kind of vicious delight that high society reserved for watching their own crash and burn. By morning, the footage would be everywhere, her reputation shredded beyond repair.
First blood drawn. But this is just the opening move.
"Moonlit Fish?"
I turned to find Ethan approaching with concern etched across his features, carrying two glasses of champagne despite knowing I'd been sticking to water all night.
"That thing with Victoria was intense," he said quietly, offering me one of the glasses. "Are you sure you're okay?"
I accepted it with a slight smile, appreciating the gesture even as I calculated whether drinking it would dull my edge. "I'm fine. Really. Thank you for backing me up."
Thank you for being one of the few people in this city who doesn't see me as either a monster or a commodity.
His expression warmed with genuine relief. "Of course. I've known Victoria long enough to recognize her patterns—she's been causing scenes since we were teenagers." He paused, studying my face. "I'm just glad you weren't hurt."
The sincerity in his voice triggered that uncomfortable tightness in my chest again—the kind of feeling I couldn't afford when I was supposed to be focused on survival and revenge. I took a small sip of champagne to buy myself time.
"Actually," Ethan continued, his tone shifting to something more animated, "I was hoping you'd stay a bit longer. There's something happening at midnight that I think you'd find interesting."
Midnight. That's cutting it dangerously close. I need to be back at Obsidian Tower before Sebastian returns.
"What kind of something?" I asked carefully.
His eyes lit up with enthusiasm. "It's a Kane family tradition—we host a private masquerade ball on the top floor during full moons. Very exclusive." He leaned in conspiratorially. "And there's supposed to be someone important attending tonight. Someone who could be a major investor in our research facility."
My pulse quickened despite my better judgment. An important figure, full moon gathering, potential connections to the underground networks I needed to tap into—this was exactly the kind of opportunity I'd risked everything to pursue.
But Sebastian expects you back. If he returns early and finds you gone...
Yet the hunger for information—about Genesis Foundation's backers, about other survivors, about the larger forces at play—overrode caution.
"I can stay another hour," I heard myself say. "But that's all. I have... early obligations tomorrow."
Obligations. Like making sure the man who owns your collar doesn't realize you've been playing him.
"Perfect!" Ethan checked his watch—ten forty-eight—and offered his arm. "The ball starts in twelve minutes. Come on, you're going to love this."
---
The private elevator to the top floor required Ethan's biometric scan. As we ascended, he glanced at me with a mixture of excitement and nervousness.
"Fair warning—the masquerade can get pretty theatrical. Old families take their full moon traditions seriously. Lots of protocols and hierarchy." He smiled apologetically. "If anyone makes you uncomfortable, just stick close to me. Birthday boy privileges."
Theatrical. Protocols. Full moon. This is werewolf territory, isn't it?
The elevator doors opened, and I forgot how to breathe.
The top floor had been transformed into something out of a fever dream. Ancient trees with silver-painted bark rose toward a massive glass dome that framed the full moon in perfect clarity, their branches strung with thousands of tiny lights that looked like captured stars. Real moss covered the floor in carefully maintained patches between smooth stone pathways, and the air smelled of pine and earth and growing things.
They built a hunting ground. A ritual space.
About fifty guests moved through the transformed ballroom, all wearing elaborate animal masks—mostly wolves, but I spotted deer, ravens, eagles. Everyone moved with that telltale supernatural grace.
All werewolves. Every single one of them. And here you are in a disguise and a collar.
"Impressive, right?" Ethan said, guiding me toward a table displaying ornate masks. "The Kane family's been doing this for generations. Something about honoring our connection to the wild."
He selected a delicate silver moth mask for me—appropriate, given my supposed love of moonlight—while taking a simpler black wolf mask for himself. As I tied the ribbon behind my head, my fingers brushed the dampening collar hidden beneath my hair, and I felt my suppressed abilities straining against the technological restraint.
The full moon's pull was stronger here, singing in my blood despite the collar's suppression.
Fifteen minutes. Observe, gather intel, and get out.
"Come on," Ethan said, taking my arm again. "Let me introduce you to some people. The networking opportunities here are incredible."
He guided me through the crowd, making introductions to various members of prominent families—Grays, Sterlings, Thorntons. I smiled and made appropriate small talk while my mind cataloged faces, names, potential connections. These were the people who controlled Ark City's supernatural underworld, the ones who might know about Genesis Foundation's operations, about other captured beings, about the silver-haired creature spotted near Silent Shore.
This is valuable. This is exactly what you needed.
We'd been circulating for about ten minutes when I noticed a subtle shift in the room's energy. Conversations didn't exactly stop, but they became more hushed, more careful. People's postures changed, becoming more deferential.
"Oh," Ethan said, following my gaze toward the ballroom's entrance. "I didn't think he'd actually show up."
A man had entered, flanked by two guards who hung back as he moved into the room. He wore an immaculately tailored black suit and an elaborate silver wolf mask that covered the upper half of his face, but even from across the room, even with most of his features hidden, there was something about the way he carried himself—the predatory grace, the absolute certainty of dominance—that made my instincts scream warnings.
No. It can't be. He's supposed to be at a meeting across town.
But those eyes were unmistakable. Golden-amber, visible through the mask's openings, scanning the crowd with methodical precision.
Sebastian Blackwood had just walked into the room.
Fuck. FUCK.
My heart slammed against my ribs so hard I was surprised the sound didn't echo across the entire floor. Every muscle in my body locked up with the instinct to run, to get the hell out before those eyes found me.
He's not supposed to be here. The meeting—the conversation I overheard—it was supposed to keep him occupied until after midnight.
"That's Sebastian Blackwood," Ethan said, voice dropping to awed reverence. "The Alpha himself. He almost never attends social events like this. This is huge."
This is a disaster. This is an absolute fucking disaster.
I forced myself to breathe normally, to maintain the pleasant expression of someone admiring the gathering rather than someone whose entire world had just tilted sideways. The holographic disguise was good—excellent, even—but if Sebastian got close enough, if he scented me properly...
The disguise can mask visual and audio, but scent is harder to suppress completely. Especially under a full moon when everything is heightened.
"I should probably—" I started to say, already calculating the fastest route to the elevator, but Ethan was too excited to notice my sudden tension.
"This is perfect timing," he said. "If we can get a few minutes with him to pitch the research facility, it could change everything. Come on."
No. Absolutely not. Do not drag me anywhere near that man.
But before I could manufacture an excuse, Sebastian's attention was drawn to the raised platform at the ballroom's center, where someone was announcing the traditional first dance. According to custom, the highest-ranking Alpha present had the honor of selecting their partner.
A line of elegantly dressed women formed, some wearing costumes clearly designed to evoke "fairy" or "elf" aesthetics with flowing gowns and delicate wings, others presenting themselves with the calculated allure of those accustomed to competing for powerful men's attention.
Sebastian ascended the platform with fluid grace, and I watched—half-fascinated, half-horrified—as he began examining the candidates.
He rejected the first woman with a single glance. "Eye color's wrong. I'm only interested in silver-gray or deep green."
The second: "Hair's too short. I prefer it past the waist."
The third: "Skin tone's off. I need porcelain-white that practically glows under moonlight."
Oh my God. He's describing me. He's publicly cataloging my exact features.