It takes me until we reach the road to realize we’re being followed by a towering werewolf with scars on his face and black hair with blue highlights. When I ask Liberty about him, she explains it’s her guard, Kylan, that her father insisted she have, even though she’s perfectly capable of protecting herself.

“Don’t bother trying to talk to him, though,” she mock whispers. “Kylan rarely talks.” She raises her voice. “Isn’t that right, Kylan?”

Kylan responds with a grunt.

“See.” She links her arm through mine as we stroll out onto the street. “Personally, I don’t think I need a guard. My father does, though. It’s just another way of him trying to belittle me.”

“I’m sorry.” I don’t know what else to say.

“You don’t need to apologize. It’s not your fault. Besides, you have your own tragic story to deal with, anyway.”

She’s right; I do. And I wonder how I’m going to start trying to put that sad story together.

I really need to ask Jules.

I sink into my thoughts, letting Liberty steer me down the road and into a building, barely paying attention until we’re inside.

“This looks like a bar.” My gaze sweeps the dusky walls, the scuffed hardwood floor, and the charcoal ceiling. Tinted glass tables and elegant high back iron chairs are placed sparsely around, a marble countertop bar runs along the far back wall, and lanterns filter light across the werewolves occupying the room. Some of the werewolves are old, but most are around my age, give a handful of years or so. They all appear happy, probably due to various sparkling drinks and amber liquids filling up their glasses.

“That’s because it is a bar.” Liberty unloops her arm from mine and signals for me to follow her as she skips across the bar. Kylan doesn’t follow, remaining near the front doors, stiff and on edge.

I rush after Liberty, keeping close, noting the few curious glances being thrown in my direction. “But I thought Jules said no going to bars.”

“Don’t worry; this is a special kind of bar where only friends and family of Jules and mine are allowed to hang out.” She stops in front of the bar and heaves a sigh when she notes my reluctant expression. “Lake, please don’t tell me you’ve turned into one of those female wolves who does everything their wolf lover tells them.”

“Jules isn’t my wolf lover.” When my cheeks flame, she laughs. “I just get nervous being around a lot of werewolves.”

She drums her fingers on top of the counter. “Why? You used to love being the center of attention. Well, when you were fighting, anyway. I guess not so much when the five of us were just hanging out.”

“The five of us …? You mean, Jules, Shade, Rune, you, and me?” I catch the strangest whiff of a familiar scent, but I can’t place from where. And when I breathe in deeply to try to smell it again, my nostrils are assaulted with an overwhelming combination of different werewolves’ scents.

I peer around the bar. There’s so many of them here.

“Yep,” Liberty says. “We called ourselves the badass wolves pack. We were pretty lame.”

“It doesn’t sound that bad.”

“Nah, it wasn’t. We had a lot of fun.” Peering from left to right, she pushes up onto her toes, leans over the counter, and steals a bottle of silver glittered liquid. Wrapping her fingers around the bottle, she nods her head then casually walks over to a vacant corner booth.

“Did you just jack that?” I whisper as I slide into the booth across from her.

She shrugs, twisting off the cap. “I know the bartender. He’s kind of a prick.”

“But he doesn’t own the bar. Stealing effects the owner.”

“His father is a prick, too.”

“I thought you said only family and friends of yours and Jules’ come to this bar.”

“I did.” She drops the lid onto the table and takes a swig of the drink. “The owner is my uncle, and my cousin is the bartender. They’re both straight-up pricks, just like my father.”

“So, you don’t like your father, either?” I ask, taking the bottle when she offers it to me.

She reaches for the centerpiece candle on the table. “No. Most werewolves don’t. You shouldn’t, either.”

“I don’t. … Jules told me a little bit about him.”

“He did?” She gapes at me. “He rarely talks to anyone about him.”

“I asked him about the rings,” I explain. “Which led to a story about your father.”

“Oh.” She rotates the candle between her hands. “That’s good—that he talked to you about that. He’s needed to talk to someone for a long time, but my brother’s extremely closed off.” She flops back in the seat. “Except for with you when we were little. Glad to see that hasn’t changed.”

“He hasn’t told me everything, like what this alterum dimidium animae thing is.” I give her an opening to explain.

She reaches over and taps the bottle in my hand. “Drink first, then we’ll talk. It’s the only way you’re going to be able to handle this without freaking the crazy wolves out.”

“Maybe I’m better at handling scary stuff than I used to be.”

“Maybe, but you’re still going to freak out about this.”

“How do you know that for sure?”

“Because, when we were younger, we used to talk about what would happen if either of us got a alterum dimidium animae. I said I’d beat the crap out of them, while you insisted running away and never looking back.”

“Oh.” Now she has me really worried.

I warily sniff the bottle and feel warm flutters in my chest. “What is this stuff, anyway? Because, the last drink I had from this realm was laced with silver and burned like a mother-effer. Thankfully, I’m a princess, or else I would’ve probably died.” I take another whiff of the drink, which makes my stomach somersault. “Are you a princess?”

She flips her hair off her shoulder. “Nope, I’m a straight-up badass warrior, which completely contradicts me having a guard.”

“You’re lucky, though, that you’re a warrior.”

“Being a princess isn’t that awful. It has some perks. And you can still be a warrior.”

“I’d like to be,” I admit. “But I don’t want to be a princess. Or queen, anyway. That’s way too much responsibility.”

“I’d like to agree with you because I’d prefer my old best friend to fight battles with me, but for my brother’s sake, I’m kind of hoping you’ll become queen.” She offers me an apologetic look. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” I sigh, my gaze dropping to my drink. “So, are you going to tell me what this is so I can drink this and you can explain to me why every werewolf who knows Jules seems to think we’re like soulmates or something?”

The corners of her lips twitch, as if I said something amusing. “It’s just a little vodka mixed with a bit of faerie magic dust. We werewolves refer to it as the lovely winged drink. It doesn’t have an official name.”

“You guys drink faerie magic dust?” I pull a wary face at the drink.

A devious grin spreads across her face. “Great. Is my old friend a bit of an old scaredy cat shapeshifter?”

I aim a finger at her. “Hey, I met a cat shapeshifter, and they can be kind of scary.”

She snorts a laugh. “Not if you’re me.” She cracks her fingers. “I’m seriously bad ass.”

“Maybe you should train me, then.”

“I’ll definitely help.”

“Awesome.” I eye the bottle of glittering liquid, desperate to hear more about the werewolf world. “Fuck it. Here goes nothing.” I put the mouth of the bottle to my lips and down a small swallow. The taste of sweet peaches, luminous sunshine, and magical warmth spills down my throat. “Yummy,” I murmur, then take another drink, then another, practically glugging down half the bottle.

“Easy, my little daredevil friend.” Liberty pries the bottle from my fingers. “You might not feel the effects now, but you definitely will in a few minutes.” She raises the bottle to her lips and swigs down a long swallow. When she lowers the bottle from her mouth, I cock my brow at her. She gives me an innocent look. “What? I needed to catch up.”

“Yeah, me, too.” I make grabby hands at the bottle again.

She tucks the drink behind her. “No way. If you drink anymore, you’re going to end up dancing all night.”

Crap. “This stuff makes you dance?”

She nods. “Yeah, most faerie magic does.”

“Oh.”

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing. I just sometimes like to dance when I’m a normal drunk, so I have a feeling this is going to end in disaster.”

Her grin is pure wickedness. “A disaster of fun.”

I mirror her grin. I don’t even know why, other than I feel dizzily happy.

“So, are you going to tell me what this alter dime animated doohickey thing is?” My voice sounds far away as a sparkling wave of calm lulls over me.

She giggles. “You mean, alterum dimidium animae?”

“Yeah, that’s what I said.” I stretch my legs out underneath the table, getting comfortable.

“That’s so not what you said.” She giggles again, then hiccups. “Excuse me.”

I laugh. “You hiccup like a mouse.”

“And you snore like a gremlin.”

“Hey, how do you know I snore?”

“Because I’m your best friend.” She leans forward, pounds her fist against the table, and laughs. “And as your best friend, I know all your secrets.”

“But that’s not what we’re supposed to be talking about,” I remind her, sneaking the bottle back. Keeping the bottle under the table, I discreetly unscrew the cap. “You’re supposed to be telling me why Shade thinks Jules has never been with any other werewolf and never will be.” I hurriedly lift the bottle to my lips and down a swallow.

“You little thief.” She grabs the drink from my hand, plops it down on the opposite side of the booth, and points a finger at me. “No more trickery from you.”

“Only if you tell me what in the love of madness is going on with Jules and me?”

She pauses, eyeing me closely. “Do you feel it, too?”

I give a lazy shrug. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

“The connection. Like, every time you’re around him, you want to kiss him and touch him—be one with him.”

“That sounds like a bad romance cliché right there.”

“Lake, I’m being serious,” she whines, stomping her foot. “I need to know if you feel anything at all so I can decide just how much to tell you.”

“I really don’t know how I feel.” The room spins around me in bright colors. Well, either that or my head’s spinning. “Do I like Jules? Sure. He seems nice. But I just met him a few days ago. I barely know him, and he barely knows me. Well, it feels like I know him, well, sometimes. Or well, like, I want to get to know him better. And he has really pretty eyes and the softest lips. I kind of like how he always holds my hand, although I do pull away because I’m me. And then there’s the kissing. Yeah, that sort of freaks me out, yet lights me on fire. It’s all very conflicting …” I trail off, my brows pulling together. “Wait. What was I saying?”

The goofy grin on her face makes me smile.

“You were saying what I needed to hear.” She props her elbow on the table and rests her cheek against her hand. “And you feel all those things because Jules is your alterum dimidium animae.” My lips part to demand for her to explain that damn word, but she beats me to the punch. “Alterum dimidium animae means second half, which means that, together, Jules and you make up a whole, but when you’re apart, you’re just a half.”

I lower my head to the table. “That explains nothing, but does put strange images into my head of Jules and I walking around with half our bodies.”

She bites back a smile. “I’m not talking about your bodies. I’m talking about your wolf souls.”

“Wolf souls?”

“It’s pretty much like a normal soul except, since we’re also one with our wolf, it shares our soul, too.”

“This is all very confusing.”

“I’m sorry. I know it is. But at the same time, it really isn’t. It’s basically like having a soulmate for both you and your wolf. It doesn’t happen to every werewolf. Only the lucky ones find their alterum dimidium animae.”

I blink at her. “So, Jules is my soulmate? And his wolf is my wolf’s soulmate?”

She shakes her head, deepening my confusion. “No, you’re his soulmate, and your wolf is his. But you and your wolf haven’t claimed Jules and his wolf as yours. Well, unless your eyes go violet around him.” She squints as she examines my eyes.

“Not that I’ve noticed.” I brush my hair out of my face as I sit up straight. “So, let me get this straight. Jules got stuck with me as his soulmate, and I’m guessing it’s been a while since he spoke of having that alter … rim dillydally thing before I vanished, but he might not end up being mine?”

She studies me closer. “Does it upset you that he might not be?”

“I don’t know how I feel about it.” Honestly, if I wasn’t drunk on faerie magic, I might be freaking out by now, which is probably why Liberty gave me the drink to begin with. “But I do feel bad for him. I mean, not only does he get stuck with a hot mess of a werewolf who disappeared for a decade, only to return to his life without any memory of him, but he might not even end up my alter dil … mmm … Okay, I’m really starting to hate that phrase.”

“Alterum dimidium animae,” she enunciates. “Now repeat it.”

It takes me a few tries before I finally get it right. She praises me with a round of applause, and I laugh, even when werewolves gawk in our direction.

“It still seems really unfair to Jules,” I state with a sigh. “I mean, what happens if someone else ends up becoming my alterum dimidium animae?” Even the magic sloshing around in my veins can’t hide how disappointed I feel about becoming soulmates with another werewolf.

“Then he lives his life loving you, while you live your life loving someone else. He’ll probably never be with anyone else, either, unless he pulls a Shade, gets drunk, and starts sleeping around.”

“That is the saddest story I’ve ever heard.”

“It hasn’t been written yet, so don’t get too depressed.”

“I don’t feel depressed. I feel droopy.”

“That’s the magic talking.”

I let out a slow sigh. “Poor Jules.”

She pats my head. “Don’t worry; I have a feeling this isn’t going to turn out like my parents’ story.”

I recline back in the booth. “Your parents aren’t alterum dimidium animae?”

She ravels a strand of her hair around her finger, dazing off at the dance floor. “Not with each other. My mom had one, but …” She shrugs. “He died. And then she got chosen for queen and got stuck with my father.”

“So, if another princess gets chosen for queen, then Jules will have to marry her and love her?” I press my hand to my chest where I’m fairly certain my heart is aching, but the magic almost immediately numbs the feeling.

“He won’t love her, just like my mom never loved my father. He’ll just be stuck pretending that he loves her and procreating little wolf cubs.” She unravels her hair from her finger. “I don’t think we should worry about that for now, though, considering the last crowning ceremony didn’t choose a princess. Makes me think it might’ve been waiting for you.”

“No way. I’d make a terrible queen. And crowns look funky on my head.”

“Do you often sport crowns?”

“Only once on Halloween, and it was a paper crown, but it still looked weird on me.”

“I’m not sure what this Halloween thing is, but I can assure you, our crowns are far better than paper ones.” She scoots to the edge of the booth and springs to her feet. “Now, enough talk about werewolves’ strange traditions. It’s time to dance.” She jiggles her hips and grins.

While I want to learn more about these strange traditions, the urge to dance is much greater.

I jump to my feet and meet her at the front of the table.

“We should make Kylan dance with us. He hates it.” She snickers then crooks a finger at Kylan who’s still lingering by the front door.

With a tolerant shake of his head, he pushes his way across the room. “What?” he grunts when he reaches us.

She dazzles him with a grin. “We want to dance.”

He rolls his eyes, but offers her his hand. “Fine.”

“You said he didn’t talk,” I whisper as she places her hand in his.

“He has a ten-word vocabulary.” She winks at him. “Right, Kylan?”

A ghost of a smile dances on his lips. “Whatever.”

“See? That’s three.” She holds up three fingers and puts them close to my face, making me go cross-eyed. “Only seven more to go, and you’ll truly know him.”

Kylan’s gaze bores into Liberty’s. “Did you steal the winged magic drink again?”

I scratch my head. “That was more than seven words. Actually, it feels like you’ve said eleven hundred.”

Liberty snickers, and Kylan sighs.

“No more faerie drinks.” He wags his finger at both of us, then focuses on Liberty. “And stop telling her I don’t speak.”

“You usually don’t,” she tells him as she drags him toward the dance floor, motioning for me to follow. “You must like Lake.”

He rubs the back of his head, flattening his hair down. “I knew her once.” He glances at me from my peripheral vision. “We practice fought with each other sometimes during training.”

“We did?” I perk up. Well, I perk up more since the faerie drink is making me feel like I’m sprouting wings myself.

He nods. “We did. You were pretty good.”

“Awesome.” I fist pump the air, and Liberty laughs.

“All right, drunk dancing time!” she cheers then spins around and loops her arm around the back of Kylan’s neck. “You have to dance with Lake, too. She doesn’t have a partner, and I don’t think it’d be a good idea for her to find one in here.”

“Definitely not.” Kylan offers me his hand.

I tentatively place my palm in his and breathe in relief when fear doesn’t lash through me. Whether it’s the faerie wine or the fact that Kylan seems nice, who knows, but I seize the moment and start spinning around and shimmying my hips.

“You know how to dance?” Liberty asks as the three of us sway to the rhythm of the song playing.

I nod, throwing my head back and stretching my arms above my head. “Yeah. I actually danced in the Common Realm a lot with Legend.”

“Your vampire friend?” Liberty asks, and I nod. “He’s pretty hot, right? I think I’ve met him a couple of times.”

I shrug. “I don’t know. He’s …” I shrug again. “Legend.”

She sways her hips while holding Kylan’s waist. He seems tense as fuck dancing with her.

“What does that even mean?” she asks me.

I brace my hand on Kylan’s rigid shoulder as the room spins faster around me. “It means, he’s my best friend, and yeah, he’s attractive, but I’m not attracted to him.”

“That’s good to know.” The deep voice that comes from right behind me makes my heart flutter.

Jules.

Kylan shuffles away from me, making me question if he knows about the alterum dimidium animae.

Liberty curses. “Aw, shit.”

I turn around. “Hey,” I say stupidly, and then add to the stupidity by waving.

His gaze cuts to Liberty. “I said no going to bars.”

“Yeah, well, we needed a drink.” She stomps up beside me and puts her hands on her hips. “And to have a girl chat.”

Jules crosses his arms, the muscle in his jaw ticking. “You could’ve done both those things at my house.”

“You’re right.” She points a finger at him. “But we couldn’t have any lovely winged drink at your place, could we now?”

Fury flames in Jules’ eyes. “You gave her some of that?”

Liberty nonchalantly shrugs. “Yeah. So what? She liked it. Although, she drank way more than I recommended.”

Jules shakes his head. “You shouldn’t have let her drink it. She’s not used to our magic and our drinks.”

“Hey, I’m fine,” I say. At least, I think I say it. My words are starting to slur together.

His anger diminishes as his gaze slides to me. “Don’t say that yet. The drink becomes more potent by the hour.”

I glance at my bare wrist, pretending I have a watch. “I’m pretty sure it’s been an hour already.”

He sighs, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “I think you have no clue what time it is, what day it is, or where you are.”

“That’s not true at all,” I assure him with fake confidence. “It’s noon o’clock, on a weekend day, and I’m at a bar with my soulmate. Well, not my soulmate, but I’m his …” I cover my mouth as my words register through the haze in my brain.

“And that’s my cue to leave.” Liberty makes a beeline for a set of double doors at the back of the bar with Kylan trailing at her heels.

“Liberty.” Jules starts to turn to chase after her, but stops. “Fuck,” he whispers with his head lowered. “This isn’t how you were supposed to find out.”

Acting on pure instinct, I move in front of him, cup his face between my hands, and force him to look up at me. “This isn’t a bad way for me to find out,” I attempt to reassure him. “I feel perfectly fine.”

“Yeah, we’ll see if you feel that way when the magic wears out of your system.”

“Maybe I still won’t care.”

“I think you will.”

“But maybe I won’t.” I circle my arms around the back of his neck, and his eyes slightly widen. “It doesn’t seem that awful for you to be connected to me in that way. I mean, you seem nice. Well, when you’re not pissed off. And you’re super pretty.”

His brow rises as he settles his hands on my waist. “I’m not pretty.”

“Yes, you are.” I sketch my fingers along his tattooed arms and his pierced lips. “Even with all the tattoos and piercings.” I comb my fingers through his hair, and he all but purrs. “Honestly, I kind of like the tattoos and piercings. I never really have before when it comes to guys. Then again, I’ve never really been attracted to anyone before.” Pain briefly pierces my heart at the reason, but the feeling swiftly fades into a sea of dizziness.

He squeezes his eyes shut and takes a faltering breath. “While I love hearing all of this, I really think you shouldn’t say anything else about it until the magic is out of your system.”

“Okay, I can to do that.” But that doesn’t mean I want to stop touching him. I want to touch him more. And seeing no reason not to, I stand on my tiptoes and press my lips to his.

A throaty moan fumbles from his mouth as he winds his hands around to the small of my back.

“Lake,” he whispers, breaking our connection.

I leave him no time to protest, kissing him again. This time, he kisses me back, delving his fingernails into my back as he struggles to breathe and keep us from falling over.

I wonder what the kiss is like for him. If he feels the same fire blazing inside him, too. I wonder if he likes kissing me, or if the alterum dimidium animae is the driving force behind his want for me.

I pull back at the thought, even dizzier than before. “I have a question.”

He stares at me dazedly and confused, high off the kiss. “Okay …” He can barely concentrate on anything other than my lips.

“What do you feel when …?” The words are choked out of me as a new scent wafts through the air.

Moonlight mixed with … black roses?

I’m not even certain how I know what black roses smell like, but the air currently reeks of it. And I’ve smelled it before. It takes me a dragging number of seconds to think past the faerie magic and figure out where.

The alleyway in the Common Realm.

The alleyway where I was attacked.

The smell didn’t register to me then, but it definitely does now, probably because my wolf senses are heightening.

My heart hammers as I skim the werewolves dancing around me. But I can’t spot either of my attackers anywhere, and the scent soon fades.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” I groan, hunching over and clutching my waist.

“Dammit, Liberty, I knew her body wasn’t ready for our drinks yet.” Jules scoops me up in his arms and carries me toward the door. “Let’s get you out of here.”

Under normal circumstances, I’d probably protest him carrying me, but not when I’m doped up on faerie magic, feeling like I’m about to yack my guts out.

“You’re going to be okay,” Jules murmurs as we step out into the warm sunshine.

“No, I don’t think I am,” I groan, pushing my palm against his chest. “Put me down. I’m going to throw up.”

I expect him to drop me the moment the words leave my lips, but he carries me while rounding the side of the bar. Then he carefully and very gently sets me down onto the ground.

“Ugh,” I moan as vomit burns the back of my throat. I crouch down as my stomach lurches. “I’m never going to drink anything from this realm ever again.”

“Shh …” Jules crouches down beside me, brushing my hair back. “It’ll just take some time for your body to get used to the magic, but I promise, it’s not always this bad. In fact, under the right circumstances, getting drunk on magic is fun.”

“I’ll have to take your word for it.” And that’s when the vomit makes a grand appearance.

I try to shove Jules back, not wanting him to witness the utter disgustingness, but he insists on staying with me, even holding my hair back and stroking his fingers up and down my back.

By the time I’ve finished spewing my guts out, I’m beyond worn out, sweaty, and probably pretty smelly, too.

I put up a fuss when he moves to carry me again. “I’m smelly and gross.” I swat his hands away.

He picks me up, anyway. “It’s a good thing I don’t mind smelly or gross.”

I moan, my eyelids lowering as fatigue begs to drag me under. “You’re not supposed to be this nice. If I wasn’t your alterum dimidium animae, you wouldn’t be.”

“That’s not true. I was nice to you before you were.” He doesn’t miss a beat. “And I’m pretty sure Liberty didn’t explain very well what an alterum dimidium animae is.” He shifts my weight in his arms, causing my face to press against his chest.

I make no effort to move my face away, breathing in his scent. “She said it meant I was your soulmate, but that you might not be mine. It seems completely unfair for you to get stuck with one-sided love, if you can even call it love, and that magic forces the feeling on you.”

“Magic has nothing to do with it,” he whispers as he begins to move somewhere. “A wolf can only be an alterum dimidium animae if you’re truly connected to them and their wolf. You have to have a connection past the magical bond. It’s why my parents were never alterum dimidium animae with each other, because they couldn’t stand each other.”

“You don’t even know me,” I mumble into his chest. “So how can you possibly be connected to me?”

“Because we used to know each other. We were best friends. Although, Liberty will tell you differently.”

“Did I think you were my best friend?”

“Yes. But you told Liberty otherwise to make her happy. At least, that’s what you told me.” His tone turns teasing. “Maybe you were lying to me, though.”

“I’m not a very good liar most of the time,” I divulge. “So probably not … Still, if we were so close and I’ve been your alterum dimidium animae since we were …”

“Seven,” he says. “But it was more of a friendship thing back then. It takes a long time to grow into soulmates.”

Holy shit, that’s a long time.

“Okay, since we were seven, then why aren’t you mine?”

“Probably for the same reasons you didn’t have a scent when I first met you and why you have very little power.” His voice quiets. “Maybe you’ll never be, though.”

“Do you …? Do you want me to be?”

“More than anything.”

“But you don’t even know me.”

He gives a lengthy pause. “Would you give me the chance? To get to know you?”

“What if you don’t like what you see?” I whisper as sleepiness blankets over me. “What if … you find out … how broken … I am?” Words are slurring from my lips. “What if … you find out … about the attack? About the scars? About what they did to me?” I can barely hold on to reality, but I manage to murmur one final thing. “What if … you find out … my soul is shattered?”

Those are the last words that leave my lips before I pass out.