Page 22 of Mane Brew

Oh, this is too good.

I lean against my workstation, watching him organize with an intensity that borders on religious. “So the side effects kicked in.”

“This isn’t a side effect. This is common sense.” He moves to my herb collection, separating them by family and then by potency. “How do you find anything in here?”

“I know where everything is.”

“That’s impossible. Your system is chaos.”

“My system is intuitive.” I push off from the workstation and approach him slowly. He’s so focused on organizing my dried salamander scales that he doesn’t notice. “Rhodes.”

“These should be stored away from direct light.”

He retreats to the other side of the brewing room, putting distance between us. Professional distance. Safe distance. I tell myself I don’t notice the absence of his nearness.

I tell myself a lot of things lately.

“The organizing impulse should fade in twenty minutes,” I say. “Maybe thirty. Try not to rearrange my entire operation before then.”

His response is to start straightening my fermentation monitoring charts.

I don’t stop him.

The Den is packed when we arrive for the alpha meeting.

Someone’s playing darts in the corner—badly, judging by the shouts and the occasional yelp when a dart goes astray. The bar is three deep with people who definitely don’t need to be here but showed up anyway because there’s nothing Mistvale loves more than proximity to drama.

Rhodes cuts through the crowd with the ease of someone who’s spent years commanding respect—people step aside, conversations pause, heads nod in acknowledgment. I trail behind him, nursing a pint of my own non-experimental beer, watching the dynamics play out.

A werewolf I vaguely recognize bumps my shoulder. “Heard your latest batch made the entire Den see visions.”

“Revelations,” I correct automatically. “There’s a difference.”

“Whatever it was, put me down for a case when you’ve worked out the kinks.” He winks and disappears into the crowd.

Working out the kinks. Right. Because that’s definitely what I’m focused on tonight, and not the way Rhodes’s shoulders tense when someone steps too close to him. Or to me.

Stop cataloging his reactions. That way lies madness.

The other alphas are already gathered in the back corner.

Aslan sprawls in his chair with the boneless grace of a tiger shifter, nursing a whiskey and looking far too entertained by his surroundings. “Twenty gold says Rhodes sits down looking like someone reorganized his filing system.”

“That’s oddly specific,” Torin observes.

“I have a gift for reading people.” Aslan’s grin sharpens. “Also, I may have heard he spent three hours at the brewery today getting your ingredients alphabetized against your will.”

“That was a side effect,” I mutter. “Not intentional.”

“Even better.” Aslan raises his glass to me. “Accidental chaos. The best kind.”

Elio snorts into his drink. The panther alpha has been watching the exchange with barely concealed amusement, all dark hair and knowing smiles. I’ve always found him entertaining. Tonight, watching the way his attention sharpens when Rhodes approaches, I find him fascinating.

“Rhodes.” Elio’s smile is the kind that promises trouble. “You’ve been busy.”

“The investigation requires thoroughness.” Rhodes takes his seat, pulling out his documentation. Always with the documentation. “I have updates on the contamination pattern.”

“I’m sure you do.” Elio’s eyes flick to me, then back to Rhodes.