Chapter 9
NINE
LEO
Wolf Moon Brewery. Eight o’clock. Back room. Dress casual.
No name. No explanation. Just the address and the expectation that Leo would show up.
He recognized the power play for what it was. The local alphas wanted to take his measure on their territory, on their terms. Summoning him to the wolf pack’s preferred watering hole sent a clear message: you’re a guest here, Castellan. Don’t forget it.
Three days since the welcome dinner disaster. Three days of deliberately not thinking about Junie Reed and failing spectacularly.
His investigation was progressing. His discipline was not.
He changed into dark jeans and a Henley—“casual” by his standards, though still more polished than most—and headed for the brewery.
Wolf Moon Brewery occupied a converted warehouse at the edge of the harbor district.
The exterior was industrial—exposed brick, steel beams, large windows overlooking the water—but the interior had been transformed into an unexpectedly welcoming space.
Amber lighting cast shadows across polished wood surfaces.
The rich scent of hops and malt mingled with the salt air drifting in from the harbor.
A chalkboard menu behind the bar listed house-brewed options with names like Howling Moon IPA and Beta’s Best Brown Ale.
Pack territory, dressed up for civilian consumption. Leo recognized the strategy.
The main taproom was busy for a weeknight.
Locals clustered around tables, their conversations punctuated by laughter and the clink of glasses.
Leo caught more than a few curious glances as he crossed to the back—the visiting lion, the Coalition investigator, the man who’d had his suit ruined in spectacular fashion.
He’d become a minor celebrity in Haven Shores. Not the kind he wanted.
A door at the rear of the taproom led to a private space. Leo pushed through and found himself in what was clearly the pack’s inner sanctum.
Pool table in the center. Dartboard on the wall. Leather couches arranged around a low table covered in empty bottles and full ashtrays. The air was thick with testosterone and the particular musk of multiple predators in close quarters.
Four men waited for him.
Theo Vance stood by the pool table, cue in hand, radiating the easy confidence of an alpha on home ground. His pale eyes tracked Leo’s entrance with careful assessment.
Beck Driscoll lounged on one of the couches, a beer bottle dangling from his fingers. The beta’s posture was relaxed, but his attention sharpened when Leo walked in.
Sheriff Wyatt Gentry occupied the corner chair, long legs stretched out in front of him, whiskey-colored eyes watching everything and revealing nothing. The panther shifter hadn’t spoken a word to Leo since the welcome dinner, but his silence communicated plenty.
And Mayor Hux Holt perched on the edge of the pool table, golden and gleaming even in the dim light, a politician’s smile already firmly in place. The lion shifter was the only one who seemed genuinely pleased to see Leo.
Which probably meant he wanted an advantage.
“Castellan.” Theo gestured to the bar built into the wall. “Drink?”
“Whatever you’re having.”
Beck unfolded from the couch and crossed to the bar with an easy stride. “Our amber ale. Brewed on premises. Best in three counties, if I do say so myself.”
“You co-own the brewery.” Leo accepted the pint glass. “Your opinion might be biased.”
“Doesn’t make it wrong.” Beck’s smile was friendly enough, but those hazel eyes held a wariness that hadn’t been there at the welcome dinner.
Leo noted the observation and took a drink. The ale was excellent—rich, smooth, with a hint of caramel on the finish. He said as much, and some of the tension in the room eased.
“So.” Theo lined up a shot on the pool table, sinking the three ball with practiced ease. “How’s the investigation going?”
Straight to business. Leo appreciated that.
“I’ve interviewed seventeen businesses so far. Compiled data on surge-related incidents going back six months.” He set his glass on the bar and pulled out his phone, bringing up the spreadsheet he’d been building. “The pattern is interesting.”
“Pattern?” Wyatt spoke for the first time, his voice a low rumble that seemed to come from the depths of his ribs.
“The incidents aren’t random.” Leo approached the pool table, setting his phone down where they could all see the screen.
“Look at the timing. The first major disruption hit Piprick’s Peculiar Provisions in May.
Then the candle shop in June. The bakery in July.
” He traced a line across the map he’d created.
“They’re all on or near major ley line intersections. ”
Hux leaned forward, political smile fading into genuine interest. “That could be coincidence. The ley lines affect magical businesses more strongly. Makes sense they’d be hit harder by the surge.”
“It would. Except for the buyout offers.”
The room went still.
“What buyout offers?” Theo’s voice dropped to a dangerous growl.
“Every business that’s experienced significant surge-related problems has received an offer to purchase within two weeks of the incident.
Different shell companies each time, but they trace back to the same parent organization.
” Leo pulled up another document—corporate filings, registration numbers, the paper trail he’d spent the past two nights assembling.
“Sable Acquisitions. Registered in Nevada. Specializes in ‘distressed paranormal assets.’”
“Distressed paranormal assets.” Hux repeated the phrase as if it left a bad taste. “That’s a polite way of saying they prey on struggling businesses.”
“Son of a bitch.” Beck set his beer down hard enough to slosh foam across the table. “Someone’s sabotaging businesses and then swooping in to buy them cheap.”
“That’s my working theory.”
Wyatt uncrossed his legs and leaned forward, all trace of lazy observation gone. “You’re saying these aren’t natural surge effects. They’re manufactured.”
“Some of them are natural. The surge is real, and it is causing instability.” Leo met the sheriff’s unblinking stare. “But someone is amplifying the effects at specific locations. Creating problems where there shouldn’t be problems. Using the surge as cover.”
“Moonrise Mixology.” Theo’s voice was flat. “Junie’s shop. She’s been hit harder than anyone.”
He kept his expression neutral through sheer willpower.
“She’s sitting on one of the most valuable ley line intersections in town.
If someone wanted to control Haven Shores’s magical infrastructure, her shop would be a priority target.
” He paused, choosing his next words carefully.
“She received a buyout offer three weeks ago. Rejected it without reading the terms.”
“That sounds like Junie.” Emotion flickered across Beck’s face. Pride, mixed with concern. “She’d rather burn the place down than let someone else have it.”
“Which makes her a target for escalation.” Leo’s jaw tightened. “Whoever’s behind this won’t stop at buyout offers. If she keeps refusing, they’ll find other ways to apply pressure.”
The silence that followed was heavy with implications.
Theo racked the balls for a new game and gestured for Leo to take the first shot. A peace offering, or a test. Possibly both.
Leo selected a cue from the rack on the wall and chalked the tip with practiced movements.
He hadn’t played pool in years—there was never time, never an occasion that called for it—but muscle memory served him well.
His father had taught him the game, back when Marius Castellan still had time for his son between bad deals and worse decisions.
The break scattered balls across the felt with satisfying precision. Two stripes dropped into pockets.
“Not bad.” Theo circled the table, assessing the spread. “For a lion.”
“Lions have excellent hand-eye coordination.”
“Is that what they teach you in San Francisco?”
“Among other things.” Leo sank the eleven ball in the corner pocket. “Tell me about the local power structure. The files the Coalition provided were… thin.”
Hux laughed—a smooth, practiced sound. “The files were curated. You’re getting the official version. Sanitized for external consumption.”
“I gathered.” Leo straightened from his shot, studying the mayor. “You’re Elder Isandro’s son. Your father wasn’t pleased to see me at the dinner.”
“My father isn’t pleased about most things.” Hux’s smile didn’t waver, but a shadow flickered behind his golden eyes. “He represents the old guard. Species purity. Hierarchical structure. Deep suspicion of anyone who isn’t exactly what he expects them to be.”
“And you?”
“I’m a politician. I believe in whatever keeps Haven Shores functional and prosperous.” Hux spread his hands. “Right now, that means working with wolves, witches, and visiting lion alphas who show up with inconvenient information about sabotage.”
“Pragmatic.”
“Survival requires flexibility.” Hux’s focus sharpened. “You rebuilt the Castellan Pride from nothing. You understand that better than most.”
Leo inclined his head, acknowledging the point. He was being assessed, cataloged, measured against whatever standards these men held. It wasn’t subtle, but it was fair. He’d do the same in their position.
Theo took his shot, sinking two balls in quick succession. “What’s Sable Acquisitions’s endgame? If they buy up businesses on ley line intersections, what does that give them?”
“Power.” Leo leaned against his cue. “The ley lines don’t simply fuel individual businesses. They feed into the town’s ward system. Accumulate enough intersections, and you could theoretically destabilize the wards themselves.”
Wyatt’s stillness took on a dangerous quality. “That would leave Haven Shores vulnerable to outside attack.”
“Or to hostile takeover.” Leo met each man’s attention in turn. “Someone wants this town. I don’t know why yet, but the pieces fit. Create instability. Buy up key properties. Wait for the community to fracture. Move in.”
“That’s a lot of effort for a small coastal town.” Beck had positioned himself by the window, his profile sharp against the darkness outside. “We’re not exactly a metropolis.”
“You’re located on the most concentrated ley line network on the Pacific Coast. Your ward system is centuries old and integrated with both witch and pack magic.” Leo shook his head. “Haven Shores isn’t valuable for what it is. It’s valuable for what it could become in the wrong hands.”
“A staging ground.” Theo’s voice was grim. “For whatever comes next.”
“That’s my theory.”
The game continued, but the atmosphere had shifted. These men had invited Leo here to assess a potential threat. They were leaving as potential allies against a much larger one.