Page 24 of Claws and Effect

“Are you hurt?” Zyle demanded, scanning her body for injuries even as blood seeped through his torn shirt.

“Am I— You’re the one with a knife in your shoulder!” Laykin’s voice rose with a mixture of anger and concern.

“It’s nothing.” He winced as he probed the wound. “Already healing.”

“Let me see.” She guided him to a bench beneath a trellis of climbing roses. With gentle fingers, she examined the embedded blade. “This needs to come out.”

“Security’s on the way,” Zyle said, his phone already in hand. “There should be a first aid kit in the maintenance shed.”

Minutes later, after Zyle had issued terse instructions to his security team about the unconscious attacker, Laykin knelt beside him with supplies. She cut away the fabric around the wound, her touch clinical despite the intimacy of the situation.

“This will hurt,” she warned, gripping the knife handle.

“I’ve had worse.” His jaw clenched in anticipation.

SEVENTEEN

Laykin removed the blade in one swift motion. Blood welled immediately, but Zyle’s enhanced healing had already begun to knit the damaged tissue. She cleaned and dressed the wound with practiced efficiency.

“You took a blade meant for me,” she said accusingly, emotions conflicted between irritation at his protectiveness and warmth at his sacrifice.

“My body moved before I could think,” he admitted, wincing as she secured the bandage. “My tiger wouldn’t allow any other option.”

The vulnerability in his admission—that his protective instinct overrode calculated strategy—touched something deep within her.

“Next time, trust that I can handle myself,” she insisted, her hands lingering on his bare shoulder longer than necessary. The warmth of his skin seeped into her fingertips, the solid muscle beneath a tangible reminder of his strength.

“I trust your capabilities completely,” Zyle countered, catching her wrist and pulling her closer. “But I will never stop trying to protect what’s mine.”

Another possessive statement should have angered her independent spirit, but instead, it ignited something primal and wanting. Her lioness purred in approval at his claim even as her rational mind reminded her that she belonged to no one.

“I’m not yours yet,” she breathed, their faces inches apart.

“Aren’t you?” His gaze dropped to her lips. “The treaty says otherwise.”

“The treaty is paper. Politics.”

“And this?” He brushed his thumb across her racing pulse. “What is this, Laykin?”

She had no answer that wouldn’t expose too much of her heart. Instead, she busied herself packing away the first aid supplies, creating distance to clear her head.

Zyle’s security team handling the captured attacker broke the charged moment. After ensuring the rooftop was secure, they escorted Laykin and Zyle back to the car.

“I should take you home,” Zyle said as they slid into the Bentley’s plush interior.

“And let you drive with that shoulder? Not happening.” Laykin crossed her arms stubbornly. “Your place is closer.”

Surprise flickered across his face before he masked it with a nod. “As you wish.”

The drive to Zyle’s penthouse passed in comfortable silence, the city lights painting patterns across their faces. Neither seemed willing to break the fragile peace that had settled between them.

Inside his building, a private elevator whisked them to the top floor. Zyle’s apartment opened into a vast living space with floor-to-ceiling windows showcasing a panoramic view of the city. The décor balanced luxury with minimalism—rich leather furniture, abstract art, and surprisingly homey touches that suggested a man who valued comfort as much as status.

“Can I get you something to drink?” Zyle asked, shrugging off his ruined shirt to reveal the extent of damage to his bandaged shoulder—and the impressive musculature of his torso.

Laykin swallowed hard. “Water would be fine.”

As the night deepened, neither seemed eager to part. They settled on a terrace overlooking the cityscape, conversation flowing from attack theories to childhood stories. Physical contact escalated naturally—fingers interlaced, shoulders touching, his hand brushing hair from her face with surprising tenderness.

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