“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.
Chapter 17
The loveliest voice sings into my ear as I lie on a soft mattress with my eyes closed.
“Who’s singing?” I whisper, nuzzling my face into a pillow. The scent of moonlight and violets dances in the air. “Never mind. I smell violets.”
“Maybe you’re just smelling yourself,” Jules teases, his breath tickling my ear.
I shake my head from side to side. “Nope, I know it’s you.” I crack open my eyelids and roll over to look up at him. “I didn’t know you could sing.”
He lines his body over mine and rests his hand beside my head. “You used to know.”
I pout. “I hate that I used to know a ton of things about you, yet now I know nothing.”
“That’s not true. You know I sing. That I make deals with cat shapeshifters. That I smell like violets. That I can be an asshole sometimes.” He dips his head toward my neck. “That I fucking love the way you smell.” He traces his nose along the arch of my neck, his lips skimming my flesh.
A hummingbird soars inside my chest, confirming the magical winged drink still potently consumes my body and mind. Maybe that’s why I admit, “I like the way you smell, too.”
“Yeah?” he whispers then sucks on my neck.
I nod, my eyelids closing as I arch my neck. He sucks harder, making my toes curl and the strangest pulling sensation tugs at my teeth. The feeling is almost painful, but not as much as the urge to bite him is.
“Jules,” I murmur, threading my fingers through his hair. “My mouth feels funny … I think I need to …” Pressure builds in my gums. “I want to bite you.”
He jerks back, his eyes radiating violet. The glow brightens as his gaze centers on my mouth.
“Lake …” He appears torn as he leans back. “I can’t let you do that.”
I prop up onto my elbows. “Why? It’s just a dream.”
“Yeah, but it’s not …” He kneels between my legs. “It means more than you think it does. The biting thing, I mean.”
“I know what it means. Remember? You guys laughed at me at the club when I said you should start biting other werewolves to make them respect you.” I tug on the hem of his shirt, pulling him toward me. “Besides, this is a dream. It doesn’t really mean anything.”
“I know this is a dream,” he whispers, completely enthralled with my mouth. “But you and I are very real in it, and if you bite me here, you could mark me.”
“And what if I do?” I draw him closer, wetting my lips with my tongue.
“You’re killing me,” he groans as I nibble on my lip. “If you do mark me, I could end up becoming your alterum dimidium animae before you’re ready.” He braces his hand on the mattress beside my head. “And besides, you’re drunk on faerie magic. You don’t even know what you’re doing.” He sucks in a shallow breath. “And when you bite me—when we bite each other—I want us to both be sober so I know you want it.”
“I kind of want that, too,” I admit through my drunken stupor.
His chuckle sounds pained. “We’ll see if you still think that when you wake up.”
The final words I uttered to him before I passed out flashes through my mind.
“Wait. Did I tell you something …?” My eyelids lower as sleepiness overtakes me again.
“Shh …” Jules whispers in my ear. “We’ll talk more when you wake up.”
I bob my head up and down before I plummet away from dreamland and into a nightmare filled with teeth and fangs and claws. And my soul-shattering screams.
Chapter 18
The instant my eyes open again, my brain begins throbbing against my skull.
“Oh.” I press the heel of my hand to my forehead.
My mouth is dry, and I’m sure my breath reeks like ass. My pores feel oozing with sweat, and my stomach muscles ache.
“Worst hangover ever,” I grumble, slowly sitting up. My eyes roll as I blink my vision into focus. “Wait … This isn’t the room I woke up in before.” Puzzlement webs through my brain as my gaze skims the dark blue walls, the matching curtains, the fireplace, and the ebony wooden bed I’m sitting on. The comforter drawn over me smells wonderfully of violet and moonlight.
This is Jules’ room.
I lift the blanket and cringe. What the hell?
“I think I might be wearing Jules’ shirt.”
Even though doing so makes my stomach churn, I pay attention to any achiness that might be residing in my body. When I note no pain—well, besides my brain—relief douses over me. Then again, I really couldn’t see Jules taking advantage of me, especially when he wouldn’t even let me bite him in my dream.
My cheeks warm at the rea
lization that, more than likely, he knows I dreamt of biting him. But that doesn’t explain how I got into his shirt or why I’m in his room.
Huffing out a frustrated sigh, I throw the blankets off me and climb off the bed. My legs wobble as I make my way around his room, reading the book titles on his shelf.
Many of the books are about music, and there is a guitar propped against the wall near the balcony door. I recall him singing to me in my dream. His voice was amazing, like a harmonic symphony.
Smiling, I pluck the strings, making ear scratching noises.
“I was just about to ask if you ever learned how to play, but I think I have my answer,” Jules’ playful voice echoes from across the room.
I spin around, startled, tugging on the hem of the shirt.
He’s leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed, dressed head to toe in black, a studded belt and bracelets enhancing his Gothic attire.
His gaze quickly drinks me in before they connect with mine. He seems a bit stiff, unsure. “How long have you been awake?”
I shrug. “Not very long. I was about to go find my room, but I was—”
“Snooping around my room.” He doesn’t appear mad, just curious. “Find anything interesting?”
“Not really. Well, besides a bunch of music books and your guitar. I already sort of guessed you were into music.” I throw the last part out there to test the waters and see if he really was in my dream last night.
He chews on his bottom lip. “And why’s that?”
“I don’t know. Just a guess.” Huh. Maybe the dream was really just a dream. Perhaps I didn’t really want to bite him.
“Hmm …” He rubs his scruffy jawline as he straightens. “Maybe it had to do with me singing to you in your dream.”
“Oh …” Well, shit. I pull at the bottom of the shirt and scratch my head. “I wasn’t sure if you were, um, really there.”
“I was.” He takes measured steps toward me. “Don’t worry, though; I get that sometimes dreams are just that—dreams.” He stops in front of me and stuffs his hands into his back pockets. “What we feel in dreamland doesn’t always match up in real life.”
I nod in agreement, yet underneath my gums, a pulsating need arises. When I run my tongue along my teeth, however, the sensation simmers down.
“Jules … how did I end up wearing your shirt? And in your room?”
“I brought you in here.” He removes his hands from his pockets, opening and closing his fists. “After we left the bar, you were freaking out and saying all these things about a werewolf attacking you, but you wouldn’t explain exactly what happened. And then you got sick again when we got home. I didn’t want to leave you alone in your room while you were sick and not after you said that thing about the attack …” His chin trembles as he inhales. “So, I brought you in here to sleep. I asked Legend to get you a change of clothes to sleep in, but he said you didn’t bring any pajamas. So, I called Liberty and had her come over to help you put on one of my shirts. She says she’ll bring over some pajamas and stuff later if you need her to.”
Anxiety clutches at my throat. I told him about the attack.
“Where did you sleep?”
“On the floor,” he promises. “I would never take advantage of a situation like that.”
“I know.” My words feel true.
I just about start to relax when he says, “Lake, about what you said a few nights ago about getting attacked by a werewolf.”
“A few nights ago?” I latch on to the distraction. “How long have I been out?”
“A few days.” He reaches out and takes my hand. His skin radiates warmth and strange familiarity. “Normally, werewolves pass out for only a day after drinking the winged magic drink, but your body’s not used to magic.”
“Wow, that’s like a mini-hibernation session.” I pause. “Wait, do we hibernate?”
His eyes crinkle around the corners as he softly laughs. “No, but some species of pixies do.”
“Yeah, what’s up with the pixies being in the forest? Is that, like, a normal thing?”
He nods. “We have to weed them out every once in a while, because they like to”—a flush creeps across his cheeks—“procreate a little too much. Personally, they don’t bother me, but my father detests them.”
I decide right then and there that his blushing is the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen.
“When you say weed them out, what do you mean?” I ask. “Like, kill them?”
He promptly shakes his head. “No, like Philip said, I don’t have the killer instinct. And while my father would prefer I get rid of them permanently, Shade, Rune, and I just herd them into the mountains. Some come back, but most of them don’t.”
He lays a hand on my cheek. “Lake, I know you don’t want to talk about it, but I need to know what happened … who attacked you.” His blue eyes cloud over.
“I don’t think I can talk about that,” I whisper hoarsely. “I don’t talk about it with anyone, except Legend. But that’s only because he saved me. And I rarely even talk to him about it.”
“Legend saved you?” he asks, and I nod. “Then I owe him the world.”
“Well, you can’t really give him the world,” I crack a pathetic joke as tears flood my eyes. “It’s not really yours to give.” A sob wrenches from my chest.
He encloses me in his arms and yanks me against his chest so my ear is resting above his heart. “Shh … It’s going to be okay.” He smooths his hand along the back of my head. “I won’t let anything ever happen to you again. And I’m going to make sure the werewolves who hurt you pay.”
“How can you?” Tears stream down my cheeks. “They’re in the Common Realm. Or, at least they were.”
“Then I’ll track them down in the Common Realm.”
“How? You can’t get in there unless you’re banished.”
“Let me worry about that. I just need you to tell me what they look like. Did they have any characteristics that stood out? Did you maybe see their pack mark?”
Images blur through my mind, potent and agonizing, knocking the air from my lungs.
“I don’t know,” I choke out. “I don’t want to think about it.” I push him away and collapse to the floor. “I don’t want to think about what they look like or smell like or what their hands felt like when they touched me …” I gasp for air, yanking at my hair. “I can’t think about it. I just can’t.” I continue to babble as I veer into a panic attack, yammering on and on about my pain.
While I don’t flat-out state all the gory details, I’m fairly certain Jules gets the gist of how I was raped that day, my stomach clawed open, and part of my soul ripped away. I’m sure I’m freaking him out. I mean, his alterum dimidium animae finally returns to him, but instead of the badass wolf he connected to, he gets a broken, tainted, ruined, barely existing werewolf.
My vision spots with darkness as I claw at the floor, my head swimming with lightheadedness.
I am utterly broken.
Ruined.
I hate the werewolves who did this to me.
But do I hate all wolves now?
I’m not sure of anything anymore.
I don’t want to be like this.
“Lake, calm down.” Jules kneels beside me and wraps his arms around me. “You need to breathe, sweetheart. You’re not breathing.”
As I inhale several shaky breaths, the spots in my vision gradually fade.
“I’m sorry,” I croak out, humiliation burning my cheeks.
He angles my chin up toward him. His eyes flame violet, revealing he still cares about me. How he can after witnessing my meltdown, I haven’t a clue.
“Don’t you ever fucking apologize for what happened,” he says. “None of it was your fault. It was theirs, and they’re going to pay for what they did to you.”
“What if you can’t find them?” I whisper. “What if they find me first?”
“They won’t,” he swears. “I’m never going to let anyt
hing bad ever happen to you again.”
How I wish his words were true.
“You can’t always control what happens to me.”
“No, I can’t,” he agrees. “But you can.”
I wipe my cheeks with the back of my hand. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, I’m going to teach you how to protect yourself. Me, Rune, Shade, and Liberty are some of the best fighters in our pack. And we’re going to reteach you how to be the fighter you were before you lost your memories.” He holds my face between his hands. “That way, you can feel safe, even when I’m not around.”
I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. I love what he’s saying. I just hate that this is life, that I need to relearn how to defend myself from sheer and ugly violence.
“Do you want to do that?” he asks me tenderly.
I nod. “Yes, I really do.”
He smooths his thumb along my cheekbone. “Good.” Then he leans forward and kisses away my tears, the metal of his lip rings lightly grazing my flesh and causing my dewy eyelashes to flutter. “I still think I owe Legend the world,” he murmurs as he continues to kiss my tears away.
“I’m not sure he’d want the world, even if you could give it to him.” I close my eyes, noting my chest and shoulders feel vaguely lighter. “But, if you really want to say thank you, he loves parties. In fact, he got banished during one for having too much fun with one of Eternal Vampire’s mistresses.”
“Yeah, I heard about that. You know why they call him Legend, right?”
“No, he refuses to tell me.”
He slants back to look me in the eye. “Really?”
“Yes, really. It drove me crazy.” I scoot closer to him. “You should tell me.”
He hesitates. “While I’d love to give you everything you want, I probably shouldn’t tell you unless he wants you to hear the story.”
I jut out my lip. “Well, that’s not really fair.”
“You know what’s not really fair? How fucking gorgeous you are when you pout. I mean, you’re fucking gorgeous as it is, but this”—he drags his finger along my jutted lip—“isn’t fair.”