Page 33 of Claws and Effect

I’ve never been happier about a misdial. Sleep well, my lioness.

Her reply came seconds later:Remind me to murder Seren tomorrow. But save Malachi for me—I need blackmail material on you.

Zyle smiled in the darkness.I look forward to supplying it.

Setting his phone aside, he lay back on pillows that still smelled of her perfume. The realization that had been building all day crystallized with perfect clarity: he was falling irrevocably for Princess Laykin Barclay, treaty or no treaty. His tiger had recognized her immediately as their mate. His human side had finally caught up.

For the first time since his father’s death had thrust him into leadership of both corporation and pride, Zyle allowed himself to want something solely for himself, not for duty or obligation.

He wanted Laykin. Not as a political alliance, but as his partner, his equal, his mate.

And Zyle Rubin had never failed to claim what was rightfully his.

TWENTY-THREE

Dawn painted the horizon in bands of amber and gold as Laykin slipped from beneath silk sheets. Her muscles twitched with restless energy beneath her skin, a prickling sensation that no amount of tossing and turning could satisfy. She padded to the window and pulled aside heavy curtains, inhaling deeply as she surveyed the sprawling Summit grounds.

The forest beyond the manicured lawns beckoned, wild and free under the morning light. Dew glistened on grass, and mountain air carried the scent of pine and possibility through the partially opened window.

Her phone buzzed. Seren’s contact photo—a ridiculous selfie with chocolate cake smeared across her grinning face—lit up the screen.

“Please tell me you’re still in bed like a normal person who got wine-drunk and accidentally revealed their deepest secrets to their crush’s entire friend group,” Seren groaned through the speaker.

Laykin glanced at the running shoes by the door. “Define ‘normal.’“

“You’re going running? Seriously?” Seren’s voice pitched higher. “Did last night’s wine permanently damage your survival instincts? You’ve survived two assassination attempts this week!”

Laykin pulled compression leggings from her drawer, phone tucked between ear and shoulder. “I’m staying on compound grounds. The perimeter’s secure.”

“That’s exactly what people say in horror movies before they become human chew toys.”

“My lioness needs this, Ser. I can’t think straight with all this energy buzzing under my skin.” Laykin tugged on a sports bra. “Besides, after last night’s... situation, I need to clear my head.”

“You mean when Malachi told everyone that Zyle practiced asking you to dinner in his bathroom mirror?”

Heat rushed to Laykin’s cheeks. The memory of the revelation through the accidental phone connection made her lips twitch upward.

“Among other revelations.”

“Like you keeping the earring he returned under your pillow? Which, by the way, I did not know about until it was accidentally blabbed to Tiger Boy and company.”

Laykin’s eyes flickered to her pillow where the emerald earring lay hidden beneath. “I’m going for my run. Love you.”

“It’s seven in the morning! Nobody’s awake except masochists and morning show hosts!” Seren’s protests dissolved into grumbling as Laykin ended the call.

Minutes later, she slipped through the side entrance of the guest wing. Two security guards straightened as she appeared, their expressions resigned. They’d long ago given up trying to accompany her on morning runs—no human could keep pace, and she refused shifter escorts who might witness her moment of freedom.

“Staying within visual range of the compound today, Princess?” The older guard raised an eyebrow.

“Scout’s honor,” Laykin promised, already bouncing on her toes. “Back in forty minutes.”

The morning embraced her as she started down the path. Fresh air filled her lungs, carrying away the cobwebs of wine and embarrassment. Her feet found a steady rhythm against the packed earth, each stride stretching muscles that had been coiled tight with tension for days.

With each footfall, last night’s memories surfaced. Zyle’s deep voice through the phone when he realized she could hear him:“You’re listening? How much did you hear?”The warmth in his tone despite his embarrassment. Malachi’s gleeful announcement that they were playing the same drinking game—taking a shot every time someone mentioned her name.

A smile tugged at her lips. The mighty Zyle Rubin, practicing lines in his bathroom mirror like a teenager before prom. Who would have thought?

The tree line approached—ancient oaks and towering pines marking the boundary between cultivated grounds and wilder territory. Laykin glanced over her shoulder. The main compound buildings stood distant but visible through morning mist. Perfect.

---