Page 22 of Claws and Effect

He inclined his head, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Laykin, then.”

When he opened the passenger door for her, his hand came to rest on the small of her back—a brief, electrifying touch that sent warmth cascading through her. His closeness surroundedher with that intoxicating scent of pine and snow, mingled with something uniquelyhim.

“Where are we going?” she asked as he slid into the driver’s seat.

“Somewhere special.” His enigmatic smile revealed nothing as he navigated through the city streets.

Twenty minutes later, they pulled up to a nondescript building in the city’s arts district. From outside, nothing indicated what awaited within. Zyle guided her through a private entrance and into an elevator that required his thumbprint to operate.

“Your mysterious streak continues,” Laykin observed as the elevator ascended.

“Patience is a virtue,” he replied, mischief glinting in his eyes.

The elevator doors opened directly onto the rooftop, and Laykin’s breath caught. The entire space had been transformed into a private dining oasis. Market lights twinkled overhead like stars, woven through discreet latticework that offered protection without obstructing the spectacular view of the city skyline. A single table stood in the center, draped in white linen and set with elegant simplicity.

“You did all this?” Laykin whispered, taking in the scene.

“I wanted privacy.” Zyle’s voice dropped lower. “No prying eyes, no political agendas. Just us.”

The possessive undertone in that simple “us” ignited something primal within her. Her lioness stretched languidly beneath her skin, pleased by his claim.

A waiter materialized to pull out their chairs and pour champagne before disappearing as silently as he’d arrived. Laykin took a sip, the bubbles dancing on her tongue.

“How long have you owned this building?” she asked.

“Five years. It houses one of my charitable foundations during the day.” Zyle leaned back, his posture relaxed yetsomehow still commanding. “The rooftop usually serves as an urban garden for underprivileged youth to learn about sustainable agriculture.”

“That’s...unexpected.”

His eyebrow arched. “Why?”

“The fearsome tiger titan has a soft spot for teaching kids to grow tomatoes?”

A genuine smile cracked his usually composed expression. “I contain multitudes, Princess.”

“Laykin,” she reminded him.

“Laykin,” he repeated, her name a caress on his lips.

Their first course arrived—elegant bites of seared tuna with citrus—followed by conversation that flowed more easily than she’d anticipated. They discovered shared interests in conservation efforts, a mutual passion for historical architecture, and surprisingly compatible views on the modernization of shifter traditions.

“I thought your brother Malachi was you at first,” Laykin admitted over their main course, a perfectly prepared steak for him and herb-crusted salmon for her. “At the gala. I was desperately trying to find something impressive about him.”

Zyle’s laugh—a deep, rich sound she’d heard only once before—rippled across the table. “That must have been quite the challenge.”

“He seems nice enough,” she offered diplomatically.

“He is. Too nice for his own good sometimes.” Zyle cut into his steak with precision. “And too eager to charm every woman he meets.”

“Jealous?”

His eyes flashed silver momentarily. “I spent half the gala trying not to growl every time another male looked at you.”

The raw honesty in his admission sent heat spiraling through her core. “You hide it well.”

“Years of practice.” He set down his knife. “Corporate negotiations require a certain poker face.”

“And what do you negotiate for now, Zyle?” Laykin held his gaze steadily.

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