Page 46 of Claws and Effect

“Multiple council members from both prides. I’ve uploaded the data to your secure server.” Holden lowered his voice. “Most troubling is Councilor Marcello’s involvement. Laykin’s uncle has deeper connections than we initially suspected.”

The implications crystallized in Zyle’s mind. If Laykin’s own family stood against their union, the danger extended far beyond random attacks.

“We’ll discuss this tomorrow,” he decided, picking up the tea mugs. “First priority is keeping Laykin safe while she heals.”

“Domestic bliss suits you,” Seren commented as he turned to leave. “Laykin mentioned you cook too. Hidden depths, Tiger Boy.”

“If you call me that again?—”

“You’ll do absolutely nothing,” she finished for him, grinning. “Laykin would pout, and you’re completely wrapped around her finger.”

Holden poorly disguised his laugh as a cough.

Zyle ignored them both, heading upstairs with the mugs. The weight of new information pressed against his shoulders, but it would keep until morning. Tonight belonged to Laykin.

He paused outside their bedroom door. Beyond it waited a woman who had, in the space of a week, dismantled every wall he’d carefully constructed over the years. A woman who challenged him, supported him, and somehow made him feel both more vulnerable and more powerful than he’d ever been.

The door opened silently under his touch. Laykin lay curled on their bed, golden hair spilled across his pillow, one hand stretched toward the space where he should be. Sleep had claimed her despite her earlier promises of retribution.

Setting the tea aside, Zyle slipped onto the bed beside her. She murmured something unintelligible, instinctively curling against him in sleep.

His tiger rumbled contentedly beneath his skin.Mate safe. Mate home.

For once, man and beast existed in perfect harmony.

THIRTY-TWO

Dawn crept through the curtains as Laykin blinked awake, momentarily disoriented until her gaze settled on Zyle’s sleeping face beside her. The powerful tiger shifter who commanded boardrooms with a glance now lay vulnerable in slumber, dark lashes resting against his cheeks, lips slightly parted.

She resisted the urge to trace the strong line of his jaw with her fingertips, not wanting to wake him. Instead, she drank in the sight—a rare gift to see him this unguarded. No calculating CEO. No fierce alpha tiger. Just Zyle, his chest rising and falling with each deep breath.

A sudden ache bloomed beneath her ribs, surprising in its intensity. This arranged match—this political convenience—had somehow transformed into something she couldn’t have anticipated. Something precious.

Laykin reached out, stopping just short of touching his cheek. She’d faced countless diplomatic challenges, but this unplanned emotion terrified her more than any adversary. The realization that she might not be able to imagine her life without him anymore.

The early hour presented a rare opportunity with Zyle still resting instead of punishing himself through his dawn workout routine. Carefully, she slipped from the bed, her mind already racing with possibilities. Yesterday he’d prepared breakfast for her; today she would return the favor.

In the kitchen,Laykin faced her greatest diplomatic challenge yet: Zyle’s gleaming professional-grade espresso machine. The chrome monstrosity loomed before her with its bewildering array of buttons, dials, and levers. She pressed what seemed like the power button, only to be greeted by an aggressive hiss of steam.

“Overengineered caffeine dispenser,” she muttered, jabbing another button that did precisely nothing.

Her third attempt unleashed a torrent of water across the pristine countertop.

“Sacuvaj me, bože,” she cursed, lunging for a towel. “Proklet stroj.”

“You know, most people start with the beans.”

Zyle’s voice startled her. He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, hair deliciously rumpled from sleep. The morning light caught in his eyes, turning them nearly silver.

Heat rushed to her cheeks. “How long have you been there?”

“Long enough to expand my multilingual vocabulary.” His mouth curved into that rare, genuine smile that never appeared in boardrooms. “The coffee machine’s parentage is indeed questionable.”

She clutched the soggy towel to her chest, absurdly conscious of her disheveled appearance in his borrowed T-shirt, hair tumbling wild around her shoulders. “I wanted to surprise you with breakfast.”

“Consider me surprised.” He pushed away from the doorframe with that fluid grace that still made her breath catch. Even in sleep pants and a simple white T-shirt, he moved like the predator he was. “Though I expected less flooding.”

Before she could retort, he stood behind her, his chest warm against her back as he guided her hands through the proper coffee-making sequence. His fingers covered hers, strong and sure as they pressed buttons in the correct order, the machine humming to life under their touch.

---