“No, Juliana. I mean true mates.” Werewolves and vampires—and actually grims, too, now that Livvy had told me of their ancestry—knew their mates by scent. For vampires, it was the scent of blood. Ruben had never drank my blood, but I knew as well as he did that he could smell it without actually tasting me. A mate in the supernatural world meant two halves of the same whole.
