Page 57 of Impawssible Magic

She’s curled on her side, one hand tucked under her cheek like a child. Shadow is pressed against her stomach—still unresponsive, still trapped in the control magic, but somehow he found his way to her during the night. Some instinct surviving even the magical chains that bind him.

The morning light catches the freckles scattered across her nose. The slight part of her lips. The peaceful vulnerability that she never shows when she’s awake.

Dorothea would want this for me. I’ve always known that. Maybe it’s time I listened.

Two hours later, I’m in the Stone Circle at The Den, and the mood is considerably less contemplative.

The Protection Network has assembled in full force—alphas, seconds, trusted allies—in the Den’s Stone Circle, firelight and carved granite, the usual discomfort built in.

Caius stands at the head of the table, gray eyes sharp as flint. The wolf alpha has led the Protection Network for many years, and it shows—his presence commands attention without effort.

“We have a situation.” Caius’s voice cuts through the murmured conversations. The room goes still. “Aslan. Report.”

I step forward. Every eye in the room tracks me—some curious, some skeptical, some openly hostile.

“The Preservers.” I keep my voice flat. Professional. “An ancient faction dedicated to preventing pairings between witches and shifters. They’ve been operating in Mistvale for years—possibly decades.”

Rhodes shifts in his chair, arms crossed. “What makes one witch worth this much effort?”

Elio steps forward from his position near the wall, silver eyes catching the torchlight. “Mate potential. A rare magical signature—perhaps one in ten thousand witches. It allows them to form true mating bonds with shifters. Bonds that amplify both participants’ power significantly.” He sets the familiar folder of documents on the table. “The Preservers have spent centuries identifying and eliminating every witch who carries it. They’ve infiltrated covens, manufactured exiles, arranged deaths. Systematically. For generations.”

“The documents include names.” Elio taps another page—a list in careful copperplate. “Infiltrators placed in your coven and others. Several are still active in their respective organizations.” His silver eyes hold mine. “That information will be passed to the regional magical authorities. They will be dealt with.”

“The crystal arrangement.” I keep my voice controlled. “Have you found out what it means?”

Elio’s expression doesn’t change. “A claim. The Preserver Mark placed in someone’s space means: we see you, we know what you are, and you are already ours to deal with.” His voice is flat. “It’s designed to isolate. To make the target feel watched and owned before they’ve taken a single step toward anyone who might protect them.”

Torin strokes his beard. “My grandmother used to tell stories. Said witch-shifter pairings were real, once. Before the Severing.”

“The Severing?” Veren leans forward. “That’s just a bedtime story to scare cubs into behaving.”

“Is it?” Elio’s pause is deliberate. “The Preservers have spent considerable effort making sure everyone believes that.”

“How significantly?” Caius’s voice is sharp. “The power amplification.”

“Enough to threaten established hierarchies. Enough to make them very, very afraid.”

Silence falls. Heavy. Loaded.

Veren speaks up from his corner, green eyes sharp beneath that deceptively innocent face. “The charm witch. Leire Firesinger. She has this mate potential?”

“Yes.”

“And she’s currently showing signs of pairing with...” The fox trails off, looking at me. His smile is knowing. Infuriating. He puts a hand to his chest in theatrical delight. “Someone in this room, perhaps? The suspense is absolutely killing me.”

“With me.” I meet his gaze without flinching. “She’s my mate. We haven’t completed the claiming, but it’s happening.”

The room erupts. Not all of it surprise—Veren’s expression is pure satisfaction, Torin nods slowly as though confirming something he already knew. But others react with the alarm of people whose assumptions are being publicly dismantled. Someone suggests I’ve been compromised. A lion I don’t recognize argues the pairing is forbidden.

I keep very still. Barely leashed.

Caius raises a hand. The room goes silent like he’s flipped a switch.

“This changes nothing about our mission.” His voice is iron. “The Preservers are operating in our territory. They’ve attacked a resident under our protection. They’ve infiltrated our town and threatened our people. Whatever personal feelings we might have about witch-shifter pairings, we deal with external threats first.”

“Agreed.” Rhodes surprises me by speaking up. “The lion pride stands with the Network.” He gestures vaguely at me, his expression somewhere between distaste and resignation. “We don’t let outsiders dictate terms in Mistvale.”

Torin nods, his massive frame shifting. “The bears are in. Sakura—the other new witch—she’s shown similar potential. I’ll increase protection on her studio—permanently. Full detail, not monitoring.” His kind eyes meet mine. Steady. Supportive. “If the Preservers are watching both witches, she becomes a primary target the moment they realize their operation against Leire has failed. She doesn’t move through this town alone until this is over. Whatever is happening between you and your witch, I’ve seen the way she looks at you. That’s not enchantment. That’s choice.”