Page 44 of Claws and Effect

Zyle groaned. Some memories deserved to stay buried.

THIRTY-ONE

Returning to the mountain home, they discovered someone had infiltrated Zyle’s fortress of solitude. Seren Brooks sat perched on his imported marble kitchen island, wine glass in hand, regaling Holden with what appeared to be embarrassing stories about Laykin’s youth.

“Your security systems need work,” Laykin whispered, amusement coloring her voice.

“Or your friend is actually a master criminal,” he muttered back.

Beside Seren sat what she called “essential supplies”—comfortable clothes, special-order cookies from Laykin’s favorite bakery, and enough wine for a small militia.

More disturbing than the security breach was Holden’s apparent complicity. His normally stoic head of security lounged against the counter, jacket discarded, tie loosened, laughing at whatever tale Seren currently spun.

“—so there’s Princess Laykin, covered head to toe in chocolate frosting, trying to convince the ambassador it’s a traditional lion greeting ritual!” Seren finished triumphantly.

“That’s a creative interpretation of events,” Laykin said dryly, announcing their presence.

Seren’s face lit up. “You’re back! Perfect timing—I was just getting to the part where you tried to bribe the kitchen staff to smuggle in a replacement cake.”

“Your friend has overthrown my security chief with chocolate chip cookies and embarrassing stories,” Zyle murmured to Laykin.

“Seren could charm secrets from a sphinx,” she replied, accepting a glass of wine. “It’s her superpower.”

“Security breach rebranded as a superpower. Convenient.”

“You’re just upset because your impenetrable fortress turned out to be vulnerable to baked goods.”

The accuracy of her assessment irritated him. He tried several subtle hints that their uninvited guests should leave—checking his watch, mentioning early meetings, even activating non-essential security protocols that should have signaled the end of social gatherings.

Nothing worked. Seren launched into yet another “remember when” story, this one involving Laykin’s disastrous attempt at ballroom dancing. As Holden leaned forward with genuine interest, Zyle resigned himself to an evening of invasion.

Warm fingers suddenly wrapped around his wrist. Laykin tugged him toward the stairs, mischief dancing in her eyes.

“They’ll figure it out eventually,” she whispered. “Or they won’t, and they can sleep on the couch.”

Something hungry flared in his chest at her conspiratorial smile. He followed willingly, tiger instincts humming beneath his skin at the promise in her expression.

Inside their bedroom, playfulness transformed into something more intense. Laykin backed him against the door, rising onto tiptoes to press her mouth to his. The kiss held nothing back—demanding, consuming, stripping away his careful control with devastating efficiency.

Her hands slipped beneath his shirt, palms scorching against his skin. Heat flooded his system, his tiger surging toward the surface with possessive need.

Then she winced—a tiny, involuntary flinch as her healing injuries protested the movement.

Zyle gently captured her wrists, restraining himself despite every instinct screaming for more contact. “You’re still healing,” he reminded her softly.

“I’m a shifter,” she countered, frustration flashing in her eyes. “I heal quickly.”

“Not quickly enough.” He maintained his grip when she tried to pull away.

“Stop treating me like I’m fragile.” Real hurt threaded through her irritation. “I know my own limits.”

The realization hit him like a physical blow—his protective instincts had once again overridden her independence. His tiger growled in confusion.Protect mate. But mate angry. Why?

“You’re right,” he acknowledged, pressing his forehead to hers. “I’m sorry.”

They settled on the bed, the heated moment cooled but not forgotten. Laykin curled against his side, her head resting on his shoulder.

“I’ve spent my life calculating risks, controlling variables,” he admitted into the quiet between them. “But with you, I can’t seem to control anything—least of all my reactions. When you were hurt, my logic disappeared. All that remained was the need to keep you safe, whatever the cost.”

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