Page 31 of Claws and Effect

“You know what would make this more interesting?” Malachi’s eyes glinted mischievously as he lined up shot glasses along the bar. “Every time Zyle mentions Princess Laykin or checks his phone, we drink.”

“We’ll be unconscious in twenty minutes,” Holden deadpanned but reached for the bottle of premium whiskey, nonetheless.

The game room, like everything in Zyle’s penthouse, exemplified luxury without ostentation. A professional-grade pool table dominated the center, surrounded by top-of-the-line dart boards, air hockey, and a fully stocked bar. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a panoramic view of Manhattan’s glittering nightscape—a view most people would give their right arm to enjoy.

“This is childish,” Zyle protested, though he found himself oddly amused by his brother’s antics.

“What’s childish is how you go from terrifying alpha businessman to lovesick teenager every time your phone pings,” Malachi retorted, distributing shot glasses. “Come on. It’ll be fun.”

Against his better judgment, Zyle relented. “Fine. But I don’t mention her that often.”

The drinking game escalated with alarming rapidity. Within fifteen minutes, Zyle had triggered three shots without realizing it, causally referencing Laykin in conversation about security measures, pride politics, and the upcoming ceremonial covenant signing.

After an hour, even with their enhanced shifter metabolism, all three men showed signs of inebriation. Malachi sprawled across the pool table, one leg dangling over the edge as he spun the cue ball with his finger. Holden missed the dartboard entirely, his dart embedding itself in the expensive wallpaper instead.

Zyle, despite his legendary tolerance, found himself smiling more freely than usual. His customary rigid control had softened at the edges, his tie discarded and shirt unbuttoned at the collar.

“You’ve got it bad, big brother,” Malachi said, rolling onto his back to stare at the ceiling. “Never seen you this obsessed with anyone.”

“I’m not obsessed,” Zyle objected. “I’m concerned. Two attacks in three days is not coincidence.”

“Sure, sure.” Malachi waved dismissively. “That’s why you keep touching your phone like it holds the nuclear codes. Pure professional concern.”

TWENTY-TWO

Zyle ignored him, lining up a shot at the pool table that sent three balls into pockets with machine-like precision.

“Did you know,” Malachi announced to no one in particular, “that my stone-cold brother actually growled—full-on tiger growled—when his security chief reported that a Summit councilman stood too close to Princess Laykin yesterday? He wasn’t even there, but just hearing about it nearly triggered a shift.”

Holden snorted. “That’s nothing. He called the head chef at Le Cirque this morning and had the entire menu adjusted because he found out the princess has a shellfish allergy.”

“I didn’t change their menu,” Zyle corrected with dignity. “I merely suggested that our dinner reservation tomorrow might go more smoothly if they prepared appropriate alternatives.”

“You threatened to cancel a standing reservation your family has held for twenty years over a lobster bisque,” Holden translated.

“She’s allergic to shellfish. It’s a security concern.” Zyle’s tone dared them to argue.

His phone vibrated with a text. Without thinking, he reached for it immediately, triggering another round of shots and laughter from both men.

The message wasn’t from Laykin but from his head of security, confirming that her car had returned safely to her residence twenty minutes ago. Relief loosened a knot of tension in Zyle’s shoulders he hadn’t realized was there.

“I’ve got it!” Malachi sat up suddenly, nearly toppling off the pool table. “We should call the girls! See if their night is as wild as ours.”

“No,” Zyle responded instantly.

“Come on! Girls’ night versus boys’ night. Cosmic alignment!” Malachi’s grin widened. “Ten bucks says they’re talking about us right now.”

“You will do no such thing,” Zyle warned, but his phone chose that moment to ring, Laykin’s custom ringtone cutting through the room.

His heart jumped in his chest. Malachi, with the inexplicable speed of younger siblings everywhere, lunged across the room and snatched the phone before Zyle could react.

“Welcome to Tiger Town, your majesty!” Malachi crowed into the speaker, dancing away from Zyle’s grasp.

Instead of a greeting, they heard muffled voices and what sounded like Seren laughing in the background.

“Hello? Princess Laykin?” Malachi tried again, raising his eyebrows at Zyle.

More background noises came through the speaker, but no direct response.

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