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She gave him a soft smile. “I think it’s past time somebody in this family besides me learns how to break a bond.”

Oliver swallowed past the sudden lump in his throat. They’d talked about doing this eventually, but she hadn’t brought it up in the past year. Not since he’d pulled away and she’d started doubting his abilities to be alpha. He wanted to ask if this meant she’d changed her mind—if she believed in him again—but the words caught in his throat and she was already reaching for the bottle.

“Now,” she said. “The first thing you’ll want to do is pour the bond nectar into a glass. I’ll show you how to make the nectar later, it’s a much longer process.”

She set a pristine glass on the desk and picked up the bottle, which still had the cork firmly in place.

He watched her mime pouring it. “Is the glass important?”

She stared down at it. “Well, otherwise you’d get it all over the desk.”

“No, I mean…” He gestured down at the delicate glass, its gentle patterns vaguely familiar. “Would any glass work? Is it a special glass? If we lose that golden bowl, can I buy another one from Pottery Barn?”

She considered as she set the bottle back down. “You don’t HAVE to. If it’s an emergency, you can use whatever receptacle you have lying around. Use a McDonald's cup if you have to. But Musgroves are proud to use the same items our ancestors have used for centuries.”

“Of course,” Oliver said hastily.

“I’ll put you in touch with your cousins; they have more where these came from.” She tapped the golden bowl, a sweet sound ringing through her room. “Now we take the flower and burn the edges.”

She lit a match, miming that she was burning something. She met his eyes, and they stared at each other with the knowledge that they were both thinking about the debacle that had gone down in the hallway last week.

“You only need a few petals,” she said, miming shaking her hand out into the golden bowl.

“A few,” he prompted.

“Two,” she said. “Well,traditionallytwo. Really, it’s one for every person breaking the bond, so it depends on how many are in the bond. Then crush them in with the herbs.”

She picked up the dried herbs and crumbled some into the golden bowl, mashing it around with her fingers.

“Then you empty it into the glass,” she continued. “And you bleed into it.”

He made a face. “Bleedinto it?”

“Yes.” She held out the small silver knife to him. “Traditionally, the un-bonding pair will do it. Symbolizing that they are severing from each other.”

Oliver shifted uncomfortably. He took the knife, feeling the short, slim blade. This had to be the knife that cut the bond between Uncle Roy and his wife. The knife that cut the bond between however many Musgroves throughout however many generations.

He’d always assumed he wouldn’tbond with anyone. He’d get married, of course. But not every married couple bonded. He’d always been worried that it would be too much, constantly being able to feel their presence or the lack of it. Feeling the echoes of their emotions, maybe even knowing what they were thinking if the bond lasted long enough and ran particularly deep. After he left Arizona, he’d doubted whether he’d even get married. If he’d ever trust anyone enough to date again. He never thought he’d stumble into a bond. Especially not with someone like Luna, whose world was so separate from his she might as well have been from another planet.

He rolled the knife in his hand, imagining pressing it into her thumb. She wouldn’t heal fast like he would. She’d have to bandage it. He wondered if it would scar. The idea filled him with deep dread and equally deep want. He’d never let it happen; he’d cut her shallow and brief, barely enough for the drops of blood they needed. But he wanted something tangible for her to remember him by. He wanted her to lie in bed at night with her husband, rubbing her finger over the scar and remembering their time together. A stolen two months in a strange, snowy town where she once arranged a fair. Would she forget all about them when she left? Would she forget him?

“Oliver.”

Grandmother’s voice dragged him back. He placed the knife back on the desk, giving her a tight smile. “Is that it?”

She paused. Then she touched his arm, squeezinggently. She’d done it a million times before, yet Oliver still stiffened.

He wanted to be the guy who leaned into his family’s touch gladly. He used to be, once. He wanted to be Oliver from a year ago, who hadn’t betrayed them all by opening up to the wrong person and wasn’t this broken husk of a wolf who couldn’t even shift. Who felt like he didn’t deserve his family’s affection to the point where he got angry if they tried to give it to him.

He tried to make his arm relax. But it was too late, Grandmother’s hand dropping back to her side.

“Yes,” she said. “That’s it. The bond will sever, and you’ll be back to yourselves once more.”

Back to yourselves,Oliver thought. He rubbed his chest. It was getting warmer. Luna must be closer than he thought.

Grandmother cleared her throat. “So, she’s staying until the fair?”

“She’s thinking about it,” Oliver said, trying to yank back the feelings of respect and awe he’d felt at being shown the rituals of his family and banish all the stupid, useless regret that had risen when she gave him the knife. “It’d cut it pretty close, is the thing. The wedding is the day after.”