Page 36 of Claws and Effect

“Would you have agreed to them?”

Her silence answered for her.

“You’re not a prisoner, Laykin,” he said, his voice softening. “But I refuse to lose you to an assassin’s blade when I could prevent it.”

His fingers interlaced with hers, thumb stroking small circles against her palm.

“I’ve spent my entire life protecting what’s important to me,” he continued, eyes fixed on their joined hands. “My family. My pride. My company. It’s not about control—it’s about duty. About responsibility.”

“I understand duty,” she replied, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly. “But I’m not accustomed to someone else making decisions about my safety. I’ve been trained since childhood to protect myself.”

“And you’ve done admirably,” he acknowledged, surprising her. “Three bears would have killed most shifters, even alphas. But even the strongest fighter can be overwhelmed by numbers or caught off guard.”

His candid recognition of her abilities soothed something raw inside her. Not condescension or dismissal of her skills, but pragmatic assessment of realistic threats.

“Tell me about the estate we’re heading to,” she requested, deliberately transitioning to neutral territory. “Is it your primary residence?”

“One of three,” he replied, gratitude for the subject change evident in his relaxed posture. “This one’s in the mountains, built into the natural landscape for both aesthetic and security reasons. My father started its construction, but I finished it after his death.”

The mountain road curved again, revealing glimpses of a sprawling structure integrated into rocky terrain ahead. As they drew closer, the estate came into view—a modern architectural marvel of stone, steel, and glass that seemed to emerge organically from the mountainside rather than imposing upon it.

Massive gates parted as their vehicle approached, security personnel visible at multiple points along the perimeter wall. The driveway curved through meticulously landscaped grounds where ornamental features cleverly disguised defense measures. Motion sensors masqueraded as garden lighting. Decorative stone pillars concealed surveillance equipment. Even the picturesque pond likely harbored underwater barriers.

“Your security rivals a military compound,” she observed as staff approached to unload her hastily packed luggage.

“Paranoia and preparation are separated only by time,” he replied cryptically, coming around to open her door. His hand on the small of her back guided her toward imposing entrance doors that swung open silently at their approach.

Inside, the mansion revealed itself in stark contrast to Summit’s centuries-old opulence. Where her family home celebrated its royal heritage with gilded ceilings and ancestralportraits, Zyle’s residence embraced modern minimalism elevated by exquisite materials. Soaring ceilings gave the entrance atrium an airy openness, while floor-to-ceiling windows showcased breathtaking mountain views.

Yet despite its contemporary design, the space felt unexpectedly warm. Plush rugs softened polished stone floors. Artwork—not ostentatiously displayed but thoughtfully integrated—added touches of color and interest. A massive fireplace dominated one wall, currently unlit but promising cozy comfort when evening came.

“The entire property uses geothermal energy,” Zyle explained as they passed through the atrium. “Solar panels supplement during peak usage. We’re completely off-grid with backup systems capable of running everything for months if necessary.”

“Planning for the apocalypse?” Laykin asked, only partially joking.

“Planning for contingencies,” he corrected, leading her down a wide corridor adorned with what appeared to be original paintings by contemporary masters. “The ground floor contains common areas—kitchen, dining room, library, entertainment spaces. The east wing houses my offices and security center. The west wing contains guest suites for visiting dignitary protection.”

“And where am I staying?” she asked, noticing how staff members nodded respectfully but kept their distance, affording them privacy.

“Second floor, master wing. It’s the most secure area of the house.” He hesitated, an uncharacteristic moment of uncertainty crossing his features. “I’ve prepared adjacent suites. Yours connects to mine with a shared sitting room between.”

Laykin stopped abruptly in the hallway. “Adjacent? Not shared?”

Confusion flickered across Zyle’s face. “I didn’t want to presume?—”

“After everything we’ve shared, I thought it was fairly obvious where I want to sleep,” Laykin interrupted, a hint of challenge in her voice.

Something warm flickered in Zyle’s eyes—relief, perhaps, or pleasure—before he nodded. “Then my suite is yours as well.”

The consideration behind his hesitation—not assuming rights that politics had already granted him—touched Laykin deeply even as she marveled at his restraint. For a man whose reputation suggested dominance in all things, his respect for her choices revealed respect she hadn’t anticipated.

An elevator disguised within what appeared to be a decorative alcove carried them to the second floor. The hallway here felt more intimate with warm lighting and fewer of the obvious security features that dominated downstairs.

“We’ll share the other suite, but if you need your own space, this is your suite,” Zyle indicated, opening double doors that revealed a spacious sitting room decorated in soothing blues and soft creams.

TWENTY-SIX

Laykin stepped inside, momentarily speechless. Beyond the sitting area, French doors opened to a bedroom dominated by a massive four-poster bed draped with diaphanous curtains. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered the same spectacular mountain views as downstairs, though she noted the glass thickness suggested bulletproof materials.

---