Luca Books Novels & Stories

Luca pulled out his tissue box, and the same tissue was pulled out like others had done before her. She looked Dr. Luca in the eye, wanting to enlighten him of the pure magic of this book. Magic he was sick of hearing of. "It's a book filled with poems..." She said aloud and he rehearsed internally.

I turned around, and it was Luca. "Sorry I didn't knock," he said, realising he had scared me. He gave me an envelope. I took it and felt a card in it. "I had my beta open an account for you. Use the card to get money from the atm or shop anywhere. There is no limit on it but be wise about it," he said, smiling at me. He pulled me in a hug, and I felt him take in my scent. It was awkward. I could feel his reluctance to leave, but I did not say anything. I could be reading it all wrong. I breathed a bit, and he scented Hazel and Sandalwood. What were the odds he would smell the same as the field Declan took me to in my dream?

"Mamma pretty! Belly!" I almost cried. My Bronx loud laugh came out instead. "Luciano, people are staring." "Good," he said. He stood, pulled out his phone, and took a picture of my belly in that cut dress. "Let them." The clerk coughed. "Do you, Luciano De Luca, take Isabella Reyes—" "Isabella De Luca," Luciano corrected. "She signed last night. She is already De Luca." The clerk swallowed. "Do you take her..."

My fingers brushed along the cracked leather as I ran through the lot, stopping at one in particular. It had a jet-black cover. No title. Just the silver crest pressed into the leather, a wolf enveloped by thirteen daggers. I cautiously pulled the book from its place. A cloud of dust billowed up into the air. The weight of it alone reminded me why De Luca only touched this book when no other option remained. I stared at the black cover for a moment. I hated this book. Hated what it represented. The De Lucas of the previous generation ruled in suspicion. Through fear. Through blood. I would never turn into that.

She really liked Malia's loud voice. "Luca? Where's Loui?" Leona asked Luca, who was busy drawing endless straight lines on his 10-inch smart device. "Following the witch girl. I don't know her name, sorry." said Luca without taking his eyes off the screen of his smart device. "Does Loui want to read Lyla's mind? Why did he bother following her?" Malia asked innocently.

Theresa was old enough to have experience, but looked young enough to please Salem’s eyes—two key requirements for a housekeeper in his home. “Where is Salem now?” I asked. A good feeding would soothe my nerves. “He’s not at home, my lady. I couldn’t tell you.” Grumbling, I headed to Salem’s library. Perhaps he had a book I could entertain myself with. Once there, I found a book lying open on a desk. It was titled Mythic Bloodlines: Lost & Fabled Lilitu. Curious, I studied an illustration on the open page. It depicted a trio of strange-looking women, just like the ones Salem had been painting all this time. The accompanying text stated:

Elena stepped forward, boots crunching across the scorched marble floor where her childhood memories had once played like soft piano notes. Luca stood a few paces away, his silhouette framed by a broken arch where their mother once held lectures on neural evolution and legacy. His black suit was immaculate. Not a wrinkle, not a speck of ash. As if he refused to acknowledge the world was burning. “You look like her,” Luca said softly. His voice was almost drowned by the wind. "Mother. The tilt of your head. The way you hide your nerves in anger." Elena's grip on the Codex tightened. Her heart was a steady drumbeat of rage and purpose. "Don't speak her name."

Luca leans against the wall. “You need anything else?” Nico asks. “No. I got new clothes, a new phone, and four roses.” “Five,” Luca says, quiet. I look at him. He’s holding a white rose behind his back. He walks over and tucks it into the book on my nightstand. “For the novel,” he says. “Thank you,” I whisper. “Night, Aria,” Marco says. “Night,” I say. One by one they leave. Luca is last.

Luca sighed quietly and pushed one of the books aside. Then he noticed something. A thick, old book was lying slightly out of place behind the others. He frowned. He remembered pulling books from this shelf yesterday, and he realized that he must have disturbed it without noticing. Luca reached for it and pulled it free. Dust covered the dark cover, but the faded words were still visible. He stopped. THE MOONBLOOD. His fingers tightened around the book. The name immediately brought back memories of Elias, the ancient sanctuary, and the first time he had learned that his blood was different.

Where’s the fun in that? “Look at him,” I muttered, grinning at the smoke still curling from his burned flesh. “Crawling through fire, bleeding for her like some tragic hero… and still breathing. Still fighting. It almost makes me want to clap. Almost. “Maitre, we found a few humans lurking around,” one of my hybrids reported, bowing low. Luca. His name was Luca , the gamma of some pitiful little pack clinging to their borders like children afraid of the dark.