Chapter 9
ROZI
My footsteps faltered as we approached the converted barn. My heart stuttered, an annoying reminder of how Brody’s proximity affected me even after all this time. Damn him. Damn my traitorous body.
Afternoon sunlight blazed across polished copper and glass, transforming what had once been a simple agricultural building into something almost magical.
My cheetah stirred beneath my skin, suddenly alert, instincts humming with both caution and curiosity.
The air tasted different here, charged, expectant.
A hand-carved wooden sign featuring a distinctive botanical motif was above the entrance, with Thornbern Brewstillery burned into the aged wood in elegant script. I traced the letters with my gaze, wondering how much of himself he’d poured into this place.
“This used to be the old grain mill,” Brody said, his voice closer than I expected.
The heat of his body radiated against my back, not quite touching but near enough that every nerve ending screamed with awareness.
He jangled keys from his pocket, the casual movement drawing my attention to his hands—strong, capable hands that I remembered all too well.
“I had it converted when I decided to open Thornbern Brewstillery. Needed space for both traditional methods and modern equipment.”
I stepped away, needing distance, needing air. My enhanced senses were already overwhelmed by his proximity, the rich, earthy scent of him beneath sandalwood. Years hadn’t dulled that awareness one bit. Infuriating.
As we approached the entrance, an intoxicating blend of aromas assaulted me, yeasty fermenting grain, oak barrels, fragrant hops, and something herbal, wild, that made my cheetah arch and stretch beneath my skin.
The scents intensified as Brody pushed open the heavy wooden door.
His shoulder brushed mine in the process, a brief contact that sent electricity sparking through my veins.
“Let me show you where we’ve set up your lab,” he said, his eyes catching mine with an intensity that made my mouth go dry.
I stepped through the doorway and froze. Every clinical assessment I’d prepared scattered like startled birds. My lungs seized mid-breath as my senses flooded with input—sights, sounds, smells that overwhelmed me.
The main brewing area was a symphony of contradictions.
Rugged exposed wooden beams stretched across the high ceiling, throwing dramatic shadows across polished concrete floors that gleamed like silver water.
Massive copper fermentation tanks reached toward the rafters, their burnished surfaces reflecting amber light that warmed my skin even from across the room.
Steam rose in delicate wisps from various apparatuses, dancing in the shafts of sunlight that streamed through strategically placed skylights.
My cheetah prowled restlessly beneath my skin, responding to something primal in this space. Something ancient and wild that called to my beast, that whispered of transformation and power. I forced her back, struggling to maintain my professional demeanor despite the riot of sensations.
Along one wall, oak barrels were stacked in neat rows, their wood rich with the scent of aging botanical extracts.
The central area housed a complex network of distillation components.
Tubes, valves, and gauges formed an intricate system that looked more like an alchemist’s dream than modern machinery.
Handwritten recipes in elegant script lined another wall, generations of botanical knowledge captured in fading ink.
A spiral staircase of wrought iron and wood curved upward to a mezzanine office that surveyed the entire operation like a watchtower.
“I do quick sampling during the brewing process and quality control over there.” He pointed to a corner with a rustic bar crafted from wood with leather-backed stools. Behind it, bottles of various shapes and sizes displayed Thornbern’s product line—amber, mahogany, and opalescent liquids.
I gestured to the entire space. “This is…” Words failed me, a rare occurrence.
Brody’s lips quirked upward in a way that did dangerous things to my heart rate. “Not what you expected from a small-town Brewstillery?”
“Impressive,” I admitted, hating how my voice softened. “You’ve built something extraordinary here.”
Nothing was accidental. Every pipe, every valve, every beam had been placed with intention, creating a space that was both beautiful and brutally efficient. Just like the man himself.
“What I really want to show you is this way,” Brody said, his voice a low rumble that I felt more than heard.
He gestured toward an archway, and then his eyes locked on mine.
He led me toward the rear of the main area, where a heavy security door stood out like a steel sentinel among the rustic elements.
The contrast was jarring. Cold, impersonal metal amid all that warm wood and copper.
A biometric scanner glowed softly beside it, the only visible concession to the modern world.
“Your lab,” he announced, pressing his palm against the scanner. The door hissed open with a pneumatic sigh, revealing a decontamination chamber with air locks.
I stepped forward, my heartbeat quickening.
Now this was my world. The transition was immediate and absolute.
We moved from the warm, aromatic brewing area into a cool, sterile space that felt like crossing a threshold between realms. The chamber sealed behind us with a soft hiss that made my ears pop, and ultraviolet lights flashed briefly overhead, bathing us in alien blue.
“Standard decontamination,” Brody explained, reaching for lab coats hanging on hooks along the wall. Our fingers brushed as he handed one to me, a fleeting touch that sent heat racing up my arm. “To protect the compounds from outside contaminants.”
I slipped the pristine white coat over my clothes, suddenly aware of his eyes on me, tracking the movement. My breath caught when I noticed the embroidered Dr. R. Dhahabu on the breast pocket. Such a small detail, but it spoke volumes about the preparation that had gone into this.
“You’ve been planning this for a while,” I observed, tracing the stitching with my fingertips.
His gaze was steady, unwavering. “Longer than you know.”
His words were heavy with unspoken meaning as the inner door slid open.
The laboratory beyond stole my breath completely.
Cold. Pristine. Immaculate. My sanctuary.
Where the brewing area had been all wood and organic curves, this space was sleek lines and clinical precision.
Gleaming stainless steel surfaces reflected the bright white lighting with an almost painful clarity.
Every piece of equipment was arranged with mathematical precision that spoke to someone who knew exactly how I worked, how I moved, how I thought.
Spectrometers. Centrifuges. Microscopy stations.
Analytical equipment that would make my university colleagues weep with envy.
All brand-new, all top-of-the-line. I moved through the space in a daze, my fingertips brushing equipment that I knew from experience was worth millions.
This wasn’t just a lab. This was a goddamn temple to science.
Glass-walled containment units lined one wall, a separate climate-controlled environment for the most sensitive testing.
Several whiteboards stood ready for use, pristine and blank, waiting for my thoughts and formulas to fill them.
Computer stations for data analysis were positioned at strategic intervals, their screens displaying complex molecular structures I didn’t recognize.
But what caught my attention most was the small clean-room chamber for compound synthesis.
A transparent cube within the larger lab, equipped with specialized ventilation and sealed access points.
It was exactly what I would need to isolate and stabilize the volatile compounds from the Cradle of Life water.
“We figured you’d need proper equipment if we’re going to revolutionize shifter medicine,” Brody said, watching my reaction with those too-perceptive eyes.
His voice was casual, but his posture was tense.
Shoulders tight, hands slightly clenched.
Like my approval mattered more than he wanted to admit.
“This is…” I swallowed, fighting the lump in my throat. Years of building walls, of telling myself he meant nothing, and here he was, creating a space that honored my work, that anticipated my needs before I’d voiced them. “This is better than most university labs I’ve worked in.”
A specialized refrigeration unit hummed softly in one corner, designed for storing sensitive samples. Next to it stood an advanced microscope setup that would allow for real-time neural imaging. Exactly what I’d need to study the effects of the Cradle of Life water on shifter neurology.
“Tools are only as good as the person using them,” Brody replied, “And you are brilliant.”
His compliment caught me off guard. I’d spent years defending my research against skeptical colleagues; genuine praise felt like rain in a drought.
“Thank you,” I said, meeting his gaze directly. “But even brilliant minds need proper equipment.” My fingers trailed along the edge of the microscope, imagining the discoveries waiting within those lenses.
Brody stood closer than necessary, his presence a tangible force in the sterile room. I caught his scent beneath the antiseptic air, earthy and male. It was distracting in the most delicious way.
“Want a proper introduction to the Thornbern product line?” he asked.
“Absolutely.”
“Let’s go,” Brody said before leading me back through the decontamination chamber. The transition from sterile lab to aromatic brewery hit me again like a sensory tidal wave. We stepped into the main brewing area, my senses gorging on the rich bouquet of scents.
We now stood by the leather-backed stools lining the polished bar, where three small glasses awaited us, arranged in a perfect row.