Page 4 of Mane Brew

I see matings. Dozens of them. Hundreds. Witches claimed by wolves, by bears, by lions. Their power doubled by partnership, their magic settling into strength neither could achieve alone.

And there—a lion. Massive, golden-maned, walking beside a witch with wild dark hair and laughing eyes. The witch’s shoulder bears a mark, silver against brown skin. They move in perfect synchronization, orbiting each other without effort.

Beautiful.

Then the shadows come.

At the edges of the vision, darkness gathers. Hungry. Watching. I can’t see its shape—only the absence it creates, the way the beautiful images flinch from its presence. The mated pairs draw closer as if seeking protection from what they sense but cannot name.

The shadows press closer. Aware. Patient. Ancient.

Waiting.

The vision shatters.

I’m on my knees without remembering falling, my palms flat against the stone floor. The cold seeps through my skin, grounding me. Around me, the entire Den is in similar disarray—shifters gripping tables for support, witches clutching their heads, the three mated couples drawn into tight clusters.

Even Elio looks shaken, his usual composure cracked. Biscuit has hidden inside Sunny’s collar and refuses to emerge.

“What the hell,” Caius growls, “was that?”

Everyone looks at me.

Right. My beer. My problem.

“I don’t—” My voice comes out rough, scraped raw. “That wasn’t supposed to happen. The batch was supposed to enhance individual clarity, not create shared experiences.”

“Shared?” Leire’s face is pale. “We all saw the same thing?”

A chorus of confirmation ripples through the room. The old Mistvale. The matings. The shadows. Everyone saw it. Everyone felt that moment of beauty followed by creeping dread.

“Pre-Severing history.” Berry Thornwick’s voice is soft. I didn’t notice her arrive—she must have followed me from the shop. “The books have been showing me images for weeks. Different from these, but similar. The time before the matings were destroyed.”

“The Severing.” Anouk’s voice cuts through the murmuring, sharp and composed despite her pallor. The coven leader straightens her spine, regaining control through sheer force of will. “The ritual that weakened the natural affinity between witches and shifters. We know it originated here, beneath the Registry.”

“But why would Zeph’s beer show us that?” Sakura presses her hand against her belly. Torin rumbles low and reassuring, already shifting to shield her. “And what were those shadows?”

I don’t have an answer. My magic is unpredictable, yes, but it’s never done anything remotely like this.

“Could be contamination.” Elio studies his half-empty bottle with new suspicion. “Someone tampering with your ingredients.”

My gut clenches. “That’s not⁠—”

Caius straightens, alpha authority settling over him. “This needs investigation. Official investigation.”

“I can figure out what went wrong⁠—”

“Not you.” His tone isn’t unkind, but it leaves no room for argument. “You’re too close. We need someone objective. Someone thorough.”

I know exactly where this is going. My gut clenches tighter.

“The documentation expert.” Elio’s smile has entirely too many teeth. “Rhodes Blackthorn.”

“No.”

“He’s the logical choice.”

“He’s a nightmare in pressed trousers!”