“Ohh. Werewolves have this holiday too,” I murmured, recognizing the basic elements. “But back home, it’s just for children.”
“Everything’s more fun when it’s for everyone,” Isaac said, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.
He pulled me toward a face-painting station, and I dug my heels in. “No way. I’m not getting my face painted like some five-year-old at a carnival.”
“Come on, Bianca. Live a little.”
I shook my head firmly. “My father would never—”
“Papa isn’t here,” Isaac interrupted with a laugh. “And you’re not a child anymore. You get to decide what’s acceptable for you now.”
His words struck a chord in me. He was right. I wasn’t under my father’s thumb anymore, forced to behave like the perfect little Luna-in-training.
“Fine,” I relented. “But nothing rid
