Amphitrite

An Excerpt:

The rollers repeatedly rushed in and shored up the sand to cradle it in their gentle embrace. Enthralled by the beauty of the froth gambolling around her feet, Elsie did not notice a silent figure approaching from behind.

"Waiting for that condemned monster?" asked the stranger with a heavy accent and a scathing tone.

Despite the fact that no one would address her man as anything else, other than the terms: monster, demon, abomination, Elsie could not contain her indignation. With her delicate features contorted by demurral, she whipped around and looked up at the tall man standing behind her.

The sea breeze tugged at the man's wavy, shoulder-length platinum blond hair tied loosely at the back and swept his fringe across his face. Still, the piercing stare from the quixotic stranger's emerald-green eyes managed to thread through long strands of his fringe to cut through her rage and immediately turn the frown onher face into a petrified expression. She could detect a lust, a murderous one,emanating from those windows to the corrupted soul, and the smirk on his fullrosy lips did little to convince her otherwise. His intricate beauty was like the fully bloomed rose, whose thorns were dipped in the toxic root extract of the deadly nightshade, created to entice the prey into the trap to kill her.

Elsie had an urge torun away, but the second she leaned forward, ready to get up, that seemingly malicious man had already settled down beside her. Feeling his warm breath stroking hercheek, she instinctively shrank away from him to keep an arm's length away from the malefic entity.

Observing his snobbish demeanour and his outfit of white irregular slim suit with standing collar and trousers of matching colour, completed with white leather shoes, she found it plain obvious that he was not from the village. Who are you?

With her eyes glued on him and her palms pushing against the bed of sand to stop herself from falling backward during the bid to maintain a "safe" distance between them, she clenched her hands and gathered the sand in her fists. The lady was prepared to throw the sand into his eyes if he dared to show a slight hint of aggression. What else can I do? I can't even scream. She began to tremble in frustration at her helplessness.

The man laughed at the sight before him and waved a hand dramatically. "Don't worry. I'll not finish you off"--he paused as an eyebrow of his arched up--"just yet. After all, you're a special one who had by pure chance evaded the hunters--most of them, to be precise. Perhaps aphonia, or should I say, the inability to produce voice isa blessing in disguise?"

Elsie's eyes widened further at his comments. How did he know?

He straightened his suit before continuing, "Maybe an introduction will ease this tension between us? I'm Jean from the House of Yves." Placing his right arm across the front of his waist, he made an exaggerated bow, like he was greeting the queen.

Then Jean looked up and stared at her in the eyes. "In fact, you should be more afraid of that monster. We, the rulers of the night, are created by The Scales for a noble purpose. As for him, he's ..."