Page 35 of Claws and Effect

The second tiger maintained his animal form, standing protectively over Laykin while the human guard spoke urgently into a walkie-talkie clipped to his belt. Within minutes, the compound erupted into activity—security teams swarming the forest, medical staff rushing toward their position with emergency equipment.

As darkness crept into the edges of her vision, Laykin’s final coherent thought was that Zyle would be absolutely insufferable about being right.

TWENTY-FIVE

The castle’s medical wing pulsed with controlled chaos. Machines beeped steadily beside Laykin’s bed, monitoring vitals while IV fluids dripped through a line in her arm. Bandages wrapped her torso where the bear’s claws had torn deepest, the wounds already beginning to heal with shifter speed, though not quickly enough to erase the danger.

Her father paced near the window, his usual commanding presence diminished by worry that lined his face and stooped his shoulders. Her mother sat beside the bed, fingers interlaced with Laykin’s, thumb stroking methodically across her knuckles the way she’d done since Laykin was small.

Seren stood in the corner, face drained of color. “I should have talked you out of that run.”

“Like anyone can talk Laykin out of anything once she’s decided,” her mother said with a weak smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

The head of Summit security, a gray-haired lioness with decades of service to the pride, struggled through her explanation. “We’re still investigating. The bears shouldn’t have been able to penetrate our?—”

The door swung open with such force it slammed against the wall, silencing every voice in the room.

Zyle filled the doorway, his imposing height and broad shoulders making the space seem suddenly smaller. His perfectly tailored suit couldn’t disguise the tension radiating from his body. Silver rimmed his dark eyes—his tiger close to the surface—as his gaze swept the room before locking onto Laykin.

The naked fear in his expression caught her by surprise. Not calculated political concern or perfunctory worry for a treaty partner, but raw, unfiltered terror that someone he cared for had nearly died. In the seconds before he mastered his features, Laykin glimpsed vulnerability that transformed her understanding of him.

“This ends now,” he stated, voice deceptively quiet yet carrying to every corner. “She’s not staying here another minute.”

Laykin’s father stepped forward, bristling at the implied criticism. “This is our ancestral home?—”

“Where she’s been attackedthreetimes in one week,” Zyle cut him off, voice dropping to a dangerous register that made the hair on Laykin’s arms rise. “Your security has been compromised. Bears don’t infiltrate feline territory without inside help.”

Holden appeared behind Zyle, offering a leather portfolio with a diplomat’s smoothness. “We can expedite the treaty signing immediately. Then Mr. Rubin can focus entirely on Princess Laykin’s safety while your teams investigate the security breach.”

“I understand the concern,” Laykin said, wincing as she pushed herself upright. Pain radiated through her side, but she fought to keep her voice steady. “But the attack happened here on Summit grounds. If we leave, we abandon our best chance to identify whoever’s coordinating these bears.”

Zyle’s expression hardened. “Your safety takes priority over the investigation.”

“The attacks are escalating,” she countered, her mind racing through the tactical implications. “These weren’t random bears—they were organized, trained. Someone with inside knowledge is orchestrating this, and our best leads are right here where it happened.”

The tension between them was palpable. Laykin understood his protective instinct—she even appreciated it—but this wasn’t merely about her pride or independence.

Her mother’s hand tightened around hers, drawing Laykin’s attention. Tears shimmered in eyes that rarely showed such raw emotion.

“The bears have made three attempts, Laykin,” she said quietly. “Each more aggressive than the last. I nearly lost you today.”

The fear in her mother’s eyes wasn’t political calculation but maternal terror. Her father’s face, too, had aged years in hours, deep lines carved around his mouth where none had been before.

“It’s my job to protect you,” Zyle said, his voice softening fractionally. “Not because you need protection, but because it’s what mates do—they keep each other safe.”

The simple statement, devoid of condescension or command, penetrated Laykin’s defenses. He wasn’t trying to control her movements or decisions; he was fulfilling the most basic instinct of any shifter—protecting his mate from harm.

“Fine,” she agreed, meeting his gaze directly. “But I expect to be part of the investigation, not sidelined while others solve this.”

Relief flickered across Zyle’s face, quickly masked by a businesslike nod. “As soon as the doctor clears you for transport.”

The armored SUVcarved through mountain roads, each curve sending jolts of pain through Laykin’s bandaged side. Outside the bulletproof windows, ancient pines blurred into a green tapestry against granite cliffs. The landscape should have been beautiful—sunlight filtering through branches, casting dappled shadows across the winding road—but tension inside the vehicle tainted everything.

“You put guards on me without telling me,” Laykin finally broke the suffocating silence, unable to contain the accusation any longer.

“And they saved your life,” Zyle responded, his hand gently covering hers despite the unapologetic tone. “I won’t apologize for that.”

“You could have told me.”

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