Page 37 of Mane Brew

I stay while Anouk makes tea and Leire makes jokes and Sakura makes the weather cooperate through sheer force of maternal will. I stay while Zeph curls up in a chair that isn’t comfortable, wrapped in a blanket that isn’t warm enough, pretending she’s fine when everyone can see she isn’t.

I stay until the others finally admit they need sleep, until the apothecary goes quiet, until it’s just me and her and the soft glow of magical candles.

“You should rest.” The words come out rusty. I haven’t spoken in hours.

“So should you.” She doesn’t look up. “You’re still here.”

“You need protection.”

“I have Anouk’s wards. And Caius’s wolves are patrolling outside.” She finally meets my eyes. “You don’t need to stay.”

I need to stay. I need to stay more than I’ve ever needed to document anything. But I don’t know how to say that. Don’t know how to explain that watching her almost die rearranged everything fundamental in my chest—priorities that won’t go back to their proper place no matter how many forms I fill out.

She shakes her head.

I stand. Set the papers on the table beside her. “The forms are preliminary. You’ll need to review and sign, but I’ve handled the time-sensitive sections.”

“Rhodes.”

“The structural assessment team will need access tomorrow. I’ve scheduled them for ten o’clock to give you time to rest.”

“Rhodes.”

“The insurance adjuster requires a statement within forty-eight hours. I can coordinate⁠—”

“Rhodes.” Her hand catches my wrist. Stops me mid-sentence. “Thank you.”

Her fingers are warm against my skin. The contact burns through me, settling deep and permanent. I should pull away. Should maintain proper distance. Should remember that I’m a pride leader with responsibilities and she’s a witch with a destroyed brewery and neither of us needs this complication.

“You’re welcome.” The words come out rough. “Try to sleep.”

I leave before I can do anything inadvisable. Before I can stay and watch and let her see exactly how shattered I am by the thought of losing her.

The mist outside has returned—thick and low, responding to the violence of the evening. It parts around me as I walk, guiding my steps toward home.

I don’t go home.

I walk the perimeter of her temporary refuge instead. Check the new wards—Anouk’s work, precise and powerful. Note the wolf patrols—Caius’s people, stationed at every approach. Document everything I see in careful mental notes that I’ll transcribe later.

Protection, I tell myself. Just protection.

But something that bypasses fifteen years of careful protocol knows better. Has always known better, since the first time I walked into that chaos of a brewery and found myself unable to leave.

9

ZEPH

Iwake to the smell of lavender and the sound of Anouk arguing with someone in measured tones.

For a disoriented moment, I think I’m back in the brewery—the soft light, the herbal undertones, the warmth that seeps into tired bones. Then I shift on the narrow cot and every muscle in my body screams a reminder of exactly where I am and why.

Thornveil Apothecary. Guest bedroom. Explosion. Fire. Destruction.

Rhodes.

The memory hits in fragments. Glass shattering. Heat searing the air. Four hundred pounds of lion crashing into me, covering me, his mane falling across my face as the world exploded around us.

His hands on my shoulders afterward. The way his voice cracked when he asked if I was hurt. The three separate times he checked me for injuries before the healers could even get close—once in the rubble, once when Leire arrived, once more in the apothecary when he thought I wasn’t paying attention.