Page 63 of Mane Brew

“Zeph!” Rhodes’s voice cuts through the chaos, and then he’s beside me, his body a shield between me and the next explosion. We hit the cobblestones hard, his arm curled around my head, his back taking the brunt of falling stone.

“They’re attacking the Registry.” I scramble to my feet, hauling him with me. “Before the full moon. Before we can⁠—”

“I know.” Battle-ready. Flat. The pride leader replacing the man who kissed me last night. “They’re trying to destroy the ritual site before we can use it.”

Another explosion. Closer this time.

Dark-robed figures materialize from the morning mist—a dozen at least, their magic crackling with the sickly green signature I’ve come to associate with Preserver operations. The same energy that contaminated my ingredients. The same power that tried to destroy my brewery.

My brewing magic surges in response. Instinctive. Defensive. Furious.

They want to stop the ritual? They want to keep the Severing in place forever?

Over my dead body.

Or preferably, over theirs.

“Protection Network, to positions!” Rhodes’s roar carries the unmistakable authority of an alpha. Around us, shifters respond—streaming from every direction, taking formation with the practiced efficiency of people who’ve trained for exactly this kind of disaster.

I spot Caius first—massive gray wolf tearing across the plaza toward the Registry’s main entrance, Anouk running at his side with her hands already blazing with defensive wards. Their mated magic hums between them, visible in the air, a force that makes even the Preserver agents hesitate.

“Eastern approach, holding!” Aslan’s roar echoes from the other side of the building, and I catch a glimpse of tiger stripes disappearing into the combat. Leire’s voice rises above the chaos—a stream of creative profanity punctuated by the crack of her defensive charms.

“Civilians evacuating to secondary position!” Torin’s rumble comes from the plaza’s edge, where his massive bear form has created a living barrier. Sakura stands behind him, her weather magic whipping protective winds around a cluster of townsfolk who were clearly just trying to get their morning pastries.

“This is very inconvenient!” Sunny’s cheerfulness is remarkable given the circumstances. “Biscuit predicted danger, but his croaking was ambiguous! Three croaks could mean imminent attack or underbaked scones!”

“Maybe develop a more specific toad system!” I yell back.

“Croak interpretation is an art, not a science!” She ducks a stray spell with impressive grace, Biscuit still perched on her shoulder, croaking disapprovingly at the chaos.

Berry Thornwick emerges from her bookshop across the plaza, wielding what appears to be a very large, very old tome. She swings it at an approaching agent, connecting with his face with a satisfying thwack. “That particular book was overdue for three centuries! Consider this a late fee!”

A Preserver spell screams toward my head. Rhodes yanks me sideways, and my magic responds without conscious thought.

The battle surges around us. Protection Network shifters clash with Preserver agents in a chaos of fur and magic and desperation. The Registry’s paint continues darkening, the building’s defensive magic straining against the assault.

And at the center of it all⁠—

I see her before I register what I’m seeing.

A woman stands at the edge of the plaza, untouched by the combat swirling around her. Silver-white hair in an immaculate style. Expensive, understated clothing that shouldn’t look pristine in the middle of a battle but somehow does. Cold eyes that sweep the scene with the assessment of someone watching chess pieces rather than people.

Vespera Sallow.

The Architect.

Every thread of the Preserver conspiracy leads back to this woman.

And she’s watching the battle like she’s already won.

“Cover me.” The words leave my mouth before I fully form the plan.

“Zeph—”

But I’m already moving. Ducking through the combat, my magic clearing a path through the chaos.

Vespera’s eyes find me. No surprise in them. Just cold evaluation.