Page 25 of Claws and Effect

“Tell me about your sister,” Zyle requested, his arm draped casually along the back of the sofa behind her. “The one whose place you’ve taken in this arrangement.”

“Caroline.” Laykin smiled fondly. “She’s everything I’m not—spontaneous, free-spirited, allergic to responsibility.”

“You sound close.”

“We are. She drives me crazy, but I’d do anything for her.” Laykin sighed. “Including stepping into an arranged mating when she ran off to find her ‘true destiny’ or whatever romantic notion possessed her.”

“Do you resent her for it?”

The question struck deeper than Laykin expected. “No,” she said after a thoughtful pause. “I understood her reasons. Caroline would have withered in a political match. She needs passion, adventure.”

“And you don’t?” Zyle’s eyes studied her intently.

“I’ve always put duty first,” Laykin admitted. “The pride, the family legacy—they come before personal desires.”

“What if you could have both?” His voice dropped lower, intimate in the quiet night. “Duty and desire. Responsibility and passion.”

The possibility hung between them, tantalizing and dangerous. Laykin had never allowed herself to imagine such a scenario—it had always been either/or, never both.

When Zyle walked her to the guest room door, their goodnight kiss quickly intensified into something hungry and desperate. His hands spanned her waist, drawing her against him until every point of contact burned with delicious friction. Her fingers traced the hard planes of his chest, mindful of his injured shoulder even as she pressed closer.

With a groan, Zyle pulled back, both of them breathing hard. “We should wait,” Laykin whispered, though her lioness screamed in protest at the separation.

“You’re right,” he agreed, his voice rough with restraint as he pressed his forehead to hers. “I want you to choose me because you want to, not because of a treaty.”

The thoughtfulness behind his restraint—respecting her enough to build a foundation before claiming what politics had already granted him—made something shift within Laykin’s chest. This man, who could have demanded everything by right of arrangement, instead offered her choice, agency, respect.

He brushed one last tender kiss across her knuckles before stepping back. “Goodnight, Laykin.”

She watched him walk away down the hall, her body aching with unfulfilled desire while her mind whirled with revelation. Her phone buzzed in her pocket, interrupting her thoughts.

An unknown number flashed on the screen with a new message:Getting attached will only make losing him harder. Choose your pride or choose him—you can’t have both.

The threat crystallized something fierce and decisive within Laykin. After years of duty and careful diplomacy, of placing others’ needs before her own, she refused to let nameless shadows dictate her heart.

Without conscious thought, she was moving, her bare feet silent on the hardwood floors as she caught up to Zyle in the corridor.

“Wait,” she called softly.

He turned, question in his eyes as she approached. Before doubt could take root, Laykin pulled him into a kiss that left no room for misinterpretation. Her hands framed his face, holding him with a certainty that surprised even herself.

“Don’t go,” she murmured against his lips. “Stay with me tonight.”

His eyes searched hers intently. “Are you sure? I meant what I said about not rushing?—”

“I know,” she interrupted, the conviction in her voice matching the determination in her eyes. “I’m choosing you. Not because of the treaty, not because of our prides. I want the man who took a knife for me, who respects me enough to court me even when he doesn’t have to.”

Something changed in Zyle’s expression—a rare moment of naked vulnerability before desire darkened his gaze. In one fluid motion, he swept her into his arms, careful of his injured shoulder as he carried her toward the bedroom.

Laykin laughed against his neck, finally embracing both duty and desire in the same choice. For once in her life, fate and free will aligned, pointing toward the same future—a future with this man who challenged and protected her in equal measure.

As he laid her on the bed, Zyle’s eyes held a question. In answer, Laykin pulled him down to her, sealing their unspoken promise with a kiss that tasted of freedom and belonging.

EIGHTEEN

Laykin groaned as he squeezed her breasts. She opened her eyes and saw Zyle’s large hands trailed down her torso, leaving a trail of heat from his touch. His fingers brushed over her ribs and along her stomach. One hand moved down her thigh, then Zyle picked up her leg and placed it over his shoulder. He looked up at Laykin, his eyes tracking across her face.

Her intense gaze locked onto his eyes, and for a moment, time froze. She hoped he could see the desire and lust in her eyes. His eyes darkened in response as he took her in.

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