- LUCA
My phone buzzed in my clutch—a frantic, rhythmic hum. I pulled it out, frowning at the screen. A long string of digits from an overseas area code. I knew that number. Or rather, I knew the pattern of it. It was the country code for where Brandon had moved all those years ago.
"Aria? Is that you?"
I looked up. Brandon was standing by the fountain in the VIP gallery, away from the thrumming bass of the ballroom. He looked different—older, broader—but when he smiled, I saw the teenage boy who used to jump the fence into my garden.
"Brandon," I whispered, the name feeling like a ghost on my tongue.
He reached out, taking both of my hands in his. His palms were warm, lacking the calloused, electric heat of a werewolf’s touch. He was purely human, and for a second, it fel
