Page 26 of Stripe Theory

“Or growl every time Father questioned her?” Sierra added.

“Or track her movements all evening?” his mother contributed with a small smile.

“Or stare at her like she’s—” Hunter began.

“Enough.” Rehan’s voice emerged deeper, his tiger too close to the surface. “We have work to do. Research to complete. The virus isn’t going to cure itself while you all play matchmaker.”

He stalked inside, ignoring their knowing looks. But alone in his study later, staring at research papers without seeing them, he couldn’t ignore the truth any longer.

His tiger had chosen. Had probably chosen that first day in her chaotic lab, surrounded by smoke and brilliant theories and fearless laughter. Every interaction since then only confirmed what his instincts already knew.

Rehan pressed his forehead against the cool glass of his study window, watching city lights blur in the distance. Professional distance was becoming impossible. Denial was becoming painful.

And tomorrow he’d see her again in her element among the controlled chaos of her lab, marvelous and beautiful and completely oblivious to how thoroughly she’d upended his carefully ordered world.

His tiger rumbled with satisfaction at the thought, and for once, Rehan didn’t try to silence it.

TWENTY

Taylor Swift’s “Love Story” blasted through Alora’s headphones as she stared at her computer screens, comparing infection rates between tiger shifter communities. Not exactly the most professional choice of background music for genetic research, but hey, a girl needed her romantic drama to balance out all the science.

Alora’s lab hummed with its usual organized chaos – centrifuges whirring, computer fans buzzing, and the soft meow of her lab cat, who had somehow squeezed himself into an empty specimen box despite being decidedly not specimen-sized. Scattered sticky notes covered her monitors with helpful reminders like “Feed Stripes!” and “Call Mom” and “Stop staring at Rehan’s office!!!” (The latter courtesy of Maya, complete with three exclamation points and a tiny, doodled tiger.)

The song choice felt a bit on the nose given her current... situation... with a certain CEO. Besides, if anyone asked, she could claim the repetitive beat helped her focus. On the data. Not on how Rehan’s suits fit his shoulders like they were custom-made for him. Which they probably were.

Stripes suddenly abandoned his box, fur puffing up as he stared at the door. A moment later, Maya appeared with perfecttiming and two massive cups of coffee, proving once again that cats made excellent early warning systems.

“I come bearing caffeine,” Maya announced, setting down the cups. “So what’s got you doing the squinty-concerned-scientist face? The virus data or the fact that you’ve been staring at Rehan’s office door for the past ten minutes?”

“I do not have a squinty face,” Alora protested, yanking off her headphones. “And I was not staring. I was... monitoring security protocols.”

“Uh-huh.” Maya perched on the edge of the desk, nearly knocking over a precarious tower of research journals. “Security protocols that just happen to give you a perfect view of a certain tiger shifter’s morning workout routine?”

“That’s not my fault!” Alora felt her cheeks heat. “And I was merely documenting shifter athletic capabilities for... science.”

“Right. Science.” Maya’s grin widened. “Is that why you’ve started timing your coffee breaks to match his?”

“The virus!” Alora said loudly, pointing at her screen with perhaps more force than necessary. “Look at this pattern. Normal viruses spread randomly – jumping between populations, following travel patterns. But this...” She pulled up a map showing infection clusters. “This is like someone’s playing connect-the-dots with tiger shifter communities.”

Maya leaned closer, her tiger-shifter eyes narrowing at the data. The playful teasing vanished, replaced by predatory focus. “So someone’s controlling it? That’s...”

“Terrifying? Yep.” Alora pulled up another window showing recent patent applications, trying to ignore how her hands shook slightly. “And guess who just filed patents for shifter DNA modification? Genesis Corp.”

The overhead lights suddenly flashed red, and an alarm pierced through their conversation. Maya’s transformation from friend to predator was instant – her posture shifting,pupils dilating, fingers curling into almost-claws. Even Stripes scrambled under a desk, fur bristling.

“Three other shifter research labs just went dark,” Maya said, her phone lighting up with alerts. She moved with fluid grace to check the hallway. “We need to?—”

The security system screamed another warning. Multiple breach attempts detected. The lab’s reinforced doors began their automatic lockdown sequence with a heavy thunk that made Alora jump. Her fingers flew across the keyboard, starting emergency backups as red warning messages flooded her screens.

“They’re trying to hack us!” The words had barely left her mouth when she heard it – footsteps in the corridor. Too many, too coordinated. And because the universe had a sick sense of timing (or possibly because Maya’s shifter hearing had caught something), that’s when Rehan Kedi appeared in her doorway like some sort of corporate action hero.

Her brain helpfully noted that he wore his “casual Friday” suit today – which meant his tie was charcoal instead of black, absolute wild man that he was. But there was nothing casual about the way he moved, all that contained power wrapped in designer fabric. His usual boardroom polish had cracked, showing hints of predator beneath. She should not have found that as attractive as she did.

TWENTY-ONE

Focus! Alora scolded herself. Killer corporate raiders first, inappropriate attraction to the walking GQ cover later. Even if said cover model was currently prowling through her lab with deadly grace, looking like every dangerous romance novel hero come to life...

“Stay close,” Rehan growled, positioning himself between her and the door. His voice had dropped to that rumbly tiger tone that did things to her insides. Very unprofessional things. Things that had no place in a crisis situation, even if said crisis came wrapped in a perfectly tailored suit. “They’re here for more than data.”

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