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Grandmother looked at Hector. “Us too, I’m afraid.”

Hector blinked at her in surprise. He had an arm around Luna, causing an unexpected wave of jealousy to rip through Oliver, cold and brutal. It had nothing to do with the bond; the bond didn’t get jealous. It didn’t care who else got close to Luna as long as he got to do it, too. That jealousy would still be there once the warmflutter in his chest was gone.

“Seriously? But I’m?—”

“It’s a wolf thing,” Luna said, patting his chest. “See you in a minute?”

Grandmother gave him a pointed look as she guided Hector down the hall. The ritual didn’t need to happen in solitude, Oliver realized. She’d made that up so they could have a moment alone.

Luna’s gaze dropped to the glass in his hands. Then to the silver knife.

“Whoa,” she said with a nervous giggle. “What’sthatfor?”

“We just need a few drops of blood,” he explained. He placed the glass on the front desk. “Can I have your hand?”

She held it out. She was smiling, but he could see the reluctance behind it.

“Just a prick,” he assured her. He pressed the knife tip into her finger.

She gasped. Three drops of blood fell into the nectar.

He turned the knife hilt toward her. “Now you do me.”

Luna paused. Then she took the knife. “Wish the bonding ritual needed blood,” she said as she held his finger above the glass. “Then we wouldn’t be in this mess in the first place.”

The blade pressed against his finger.

“Harder,” he told her. “Come on, you have to actually cut me.”

“I’mtrying,” she said, frustrated. “It’s weird! I don’tcut a lot of people! Especially not werewolves. What is your skinmadeof—leather?”

He was about to call Grandmother back and ask if he couldn’t just do it himself when she changed tactics, dragging instead of shoving the blade. Blood welled up over the cut, dripping into the glass.

“Ow,” Luna said with a wince.

“It’s fine.” Oliver picked up the glass, ignoring the smudge of blood he left on the side. The liquid had turned deep red despite the few drops of blood, with an almost wine-like consistency. He held it out to Luna.

“Cheers,” she said quietly.

She didn’t take it like he was expecting. She just leaned in, pressing her lips to the rim and waiting.

Oliver tipped the glass back. Her throat worked, nose wrinkling as some of the herbs slipped into her mouth.

“That was disgusting,” she said as he pulled the glass back. “Un-bonding nectar. Two out of five—oh.”

She cut off as Oliver slammed back the rest of the glass in one gulp, grimacing at the admittedly disgusting taste. Gone was the sweetness from the first time. This tasted oily and dark, herbs crunching in his teeth.

“Well?” Luna asked as he set the empty glass down. “Does it just…”

She trailed off, eyes going wide. He didn’t have to ask why, he felt it too. The warmth in his chest was getting colder. Burning down to nothing.

Luna sucked in a breath. She touched his wrist, and Oliver felt the faintest pang of heat sparking through his ribcage before it went out entirely.

Oliver reeled. He’d gotten so used to the sensor inside his chest telling him whenever Luna was near, pulling him toward her. It was strange to have her standing right in front of him, holding his wrist, and not have that spark in his heart leap in response.

A throat cleared behind them.

Oliver turned. A human man stood in the guest hallway, waving awkwardly.