Page 12 of Claws and Effect

Zyle shot him a sharp look, confirmation enough.

“Fantastic. So weeks of careful planning about keeping your identity concealed—” Holden made a popping sound with his lips. “Gone. Because you decided to play hero.”

“Nobody saw me shift back.”Except her.“The area was isolated.”

Holden scrubbed a hand over his face. “Please tell me you intervened because it was Summit security or dignitaries under attack. Something that might actually benefit our alliance.”

Another image blazed through Zyle’s mind—golden hair catching the late afternoon sun, hazel eyes flashing with determination as her claws extended, the subtle change not even requiring a full shift. The grace of her movement, even in restrictive business attire. The moment her heel snapped and she kicked off both shoes without missing a beat.

“There was a lioness in the SUV,” Zyle admitted, the words strangely difficult to push past his lips. “Fighting the attackers.”

“A lioness.” Holden’s voice held a new note of interest. He sat perfectly still, watching Zyle with growing curiosity. “In these parts, that narrows it down considerably.”

EIGHT

Zyle turned away, his fingers itching to pour another drink. He resisted, moving instead to the window. The vast grounds of Summit Castle spread below, manicured lawns giving way to wilder terrain at the property’s edge. The border of dense forest where he’d shifted for his run. Where he’d caught the sounds of combat and scented a lioness in distress.

“She handled herself remarkably well.” The quiet admission surprised even him. “Combat-trained. Took down two attackers before they darted her.”

Holden’s silence prompted Zyle to continue, words tumbling out against his better judgment.

“You should have seen her—she broke a heel and didn’t miss a beat. Just kicked off both shoes and kept fighting. In a pencil skirt.” The memory played again in his mind, slowed down to capture each detail: her fluid movements, the flash of determination in her eyes, the subtle flex of muscle beneath business attire as she countered an attacker twice her size. “Who does that?”

“Someone who values their life over their footwear.” Holden stood, crossing to stand beside Zyle at the window. “I’ve never heard you talk about anyone like this.”

“Like what?” Zyle’s voice sharpened, defensive edges rising.

“Like you’ve discovered fire for the first time.”

Zyle’s jaw clenched. How could he explain the inexplicable? The moment their eyes met—hers hazel with green and gold flecks, his deep brown shifting to silver as his tiger surged forward in recognition. The instant, bone-deep certainty that had rocked through him.

Mine.

The thought had erupted from somewhere primal, beyond reason or logic. His tiger had roared it with such force that Zyle had nearly lost control of his shift entirely.

“She’d been darted,” he said instead, deflecting. “Tranquilizer was taking effect. I ensured the attackers posed no further threat, checked that she would survive until backup arrived, and left before I could be identified.”

“How chivalrous.” Holden’s skepticism filled each syllable. “The Zyle Rubin I know would have questioned her about the attack. Gathered intelligence about a potential threat near our delegation’s residence.”

The observation struck too close to the truth. Zyle prided himself on strategic thinking, on never missing an opportunity to collect valuable information. Why had he fled instead of investigating? Why had his only instinct been to ensure her safety, then retreat?

He had no rational answer, only the overwhelming flood of emotion that had accompanied that single thought:Mine.

“I need to shower,” Zyle muttered, turning from the window.

“You still have some time,” Holden called after him. “Try not to rescue any more damsels in the interim.”

“She wasn’t a damsel,” Zyle corrected without turning back. “She was awarrior.”

The bathroom door closed behind him, sealing him in marble-and-chrome solitude. Zyle braced both hands on thecounter, head bowed as he fought for composure. His reflection in the mirror revealed what he’d tried to hide from Holden—brown eyes rimmed with silver, his tiger still too close to the surface.

His fingers dipped into the pocket of his joggers, retrieving the small object he’d impulsively taken during the chaos. The broken emerald earring lay in his palm—delicate gold filigree surrounding a small gem that matched the exact shade of her eyes when they’d flashed with determination. He’d spotted it on the asphalt as she collapsed from the tranquilizer and snatched it without conscious thought.

The earring carried her scent. Zyle brought it to his nose, inhaling deeply. Sun-warmed honey and wild savannah grass with subtle notes of expensive perfume and the sharper edge of adrenaline. Now these mingled with his own pine-and-snow tiger musk from being carried in his pocket. The combination created something intoxicating that made his tiger pace restlessly beneath his skin.

Zyle placed the earring on the counter with reverent care, then stripped off his joggers and stepped into the shower. Hot water cascaded over tense muscles, steam rising around him as he pressed his forehead against cool tile.

What madness had possessed him? His life operated on precision and control. Every action calculated, every decision weighed for maximum strategic advantage. He’d agreed to an arranged mating with the Summit princess because the alliance made sense. Because joining their prides would create an unprecedented power bloc in shifter politics. Because the financial benefits to both families were substantial.

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