Page 42 of Accidentally Wedded to a Werewolf (Claw Haven #1)

A distraction, Grandmother Musgrove called it.

Something to take his mind off Ben and Sabine’s trek into the mountains.

Oliver had assumed she would show him a mysterious stain she’d discovered in one of the rooms or get him to fix the bell at the front desk.

He didn’t expect her to lead him into her room—his hand on her arm in case she fell again—to find her desk covered in the instruments he was never allowed to touch as a child: a slim blue bottle with a curled handle, a battered golden bowl, a small silver knife, pungent dry herbs tied in bundles.

The smell reminded him of those nights when he’d climbed into her bed in the months after his parents died.

Ben came too, and he’d fall asleep with his face buried in Grandmother’s hair and Ben’s foot sticking somewhere uncomfortable and the scent of those dried herbs hanging in the air.

It smelled like safety. Like being stuck in his head, unable to climb out, only to have his grandmother reach a hand down and lift him free.

He touched the sleek blue bottle that had gotten him into this mess. “What’s all this?”

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.

“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. Then she met his eyes, and he knew they were both thinking about the debacle that had gone down in the hallway a few days ago.

“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, traditionally two. 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. “Bleed into 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 had cut the bond between Uncle Roy and his wife. The knife that had cut the bonds between however many Musgroves throughout however many generations.

He’d always assumed he wouldn’t bond with anyone.

It was too intimate. 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 shallowly and briefly, 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’d 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, squeezing gently. 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 ourselves, Oliver thought. He rubbed his chest. It was getting warmer. Luna must be closer than he’d thought.

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

“She’s thinking about it,” Oliver said, trying to yank back the 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.”

She hummed. Her gaze was back on her desk again, looking over the bottle, the knife and the herbs crushed at the bottom of the golden bowl.

Oliver swallowed. “Grandmother. Showing me all of this. Does this mean you still—”

The warmth in his chest pulsed, and he cut off as the door swung open.

“Found you,” Luna trilled, with a bright grin that said she’d been playing Hot and Cold with the bond to locate Oliver. “Do you know— Oh! You’re doing secret ritual stuff!”

Her hands flew up to cover her eyes. Her nails were covered in bumpy silver nail polish. She’d let Darren or Leo at them again last night, one child on each hand as they watched I Love Lucy reruns in the common room.

“I can’t see,” she announced. “I’m blind.”

“It’s fine,” Oliver said as Grandmother Musgrove draped a nearby dressing gown over the table. “What’s up?”

Luna dropped her hands and broke into another bright grin. “Aunt Althea says you know where the drill is. The bookshop needs it for their fair stall!”

“We’re loaning drills to Sweethelm Books now?”

Luna nodded. She clasped her hands under her chin, rocking side to side in a way that Oliver would deny was cute until the end of time.

He sighed. “It’s in the basement. I’ll show you.”

“Oh, you can keep…” Luna waved a hand at the cloth-covered table. She looked anxious, and he didn’t blame her. The last time she’d been in here, Grandmother was burning her only ticket out.

“We’re finished for now,” Grandmother said. “Give Chester and Vi my best.”

She patted Oliver’s back, light and fleeting.

Luna looked at Grandmother’s hand. Then she looked at Oliver, eyes widening pointedly. The bond in his chest flared hopefully, a distant echo of what she was feeling as she watched them.

Oliver clenched his jaw. Then he turned, catching Grandmother’s hand and squeezing—the first time he’d reached out to her in a year.

“Will do,” he said, leaving before he could see her surprised expression turn soft with warmth.

* * *

Luna didn’t stop grinning all the way down the hallway.

“Quit it,” he told her.

She butted her head against his shoulder, wolf-style. “That was so cute! She got so happy, oh my god. You should hug your whole family tonight; I want to see their faces—especially Uncle Roy’s.”

“He’ll think you talked me into it as a part of your secret plan to take down the family,” he reminded her.

“Probably,” she agreed, still bouncing along happily beside him. She even twirled.

He stood back so she didn’t crash into him. “You’re in a good mood. You know Ben and Sabine aren’t back yet, right? They might’ve gotten kidnapped. Or fallen off a cliff. Don’t count your un-bonding chickens before they hatch.”

She shook her head. “I just got great news from a sponsor! They’re giving me all the money I asked for, and they’re promoting us all over Alaska! This fair is going to be amazing! Everyone’s going to see how incredible Claw Haven is.”

She twirled again. He didn’t step away this time, letting her elbow graze his chest. It sent a spark of heat into his rib cage, and Oliver tried not to wonder how many more times he’d get to have this.

He still wasn’t used to the bond flourishing inside of him, sending out pulses of warmth whenever she got close.

But it would be strange to never feel it again.