Page 60 of Claws and Effect

Zyle slipped out of bed, reluctance evident in every movement. Laykin watched him, a smile on her face as he pulled on a pair of lounge pants. “The view in this place keeps getting better.”

He shot her a knowing look over his shoulder. “Coffee?”

“Please.” She stretched languorously, the sheet slipping down to reveal the curve of her shoulder. “Light with?—”

“Three sugars.” He finished for her, unable to suppress his smile. “I know.”

Her surprised expression warmed something in his chest. How quickly they’d learned each other’s preferences, anticipating needs before they were voiced. Zyle padded toward the kitchen, the routine of their mornings together already feeling more natural than the solitude he’d cultivated for years.

Zyle moved through his morning ritual. He reached automatically for two cups instead of his usual one, the simple action speaking volumes.

Arms wrapped around his waist from behind, Laykin’s cheek pressed between his shoulder blades. “I could get used to this view every morning,” she murmured, fingers splayed across his bare abdomen.

Zyle turned within the circle of her arms, drawing her against his chest. She’d thrown on his discarded shirt from yesterday, the fabric hanging to mid-thigh and sliding off one shoulder. The sight of her in his clothes ignited something primal in him.

“Good,” he growled, tilting her chin up for another kiss. Her body melted against his, fitting perfectly as though designed specifically for him. He deepened the kiss, backing her against the counter, lifting her to sit on the edge as she wrapped her legs around his waist.

The coffee machine beeped, breaking the moment. Laykin laughed against his mouth, the sound rich and uninhibited. “Always something,” she teased, resting her head against his shoulder.

His phone vibrated against the marble countertop, his mother’s name lighting up the screen. Zyle frowned—Frances never called this early unless something demanded immediate attention.

“Mother.”

“Zyle, darling.” Her voice carried its usual warmth, but underneath ran a current of tension. “I know you have something important going on today, but I need you to cometo the estate. I have something I need you to see before the assembly.”

“Is something wrong?” He glanced at the clock—they had three hours before the treaty signing.

“Not exactly. I just have something I am supposed to give you before the signing. From your father.” She paused, the silence weighted. “Please, come.”

Zyle ended the call, turning to find Laykin watching him, head tilted in silent question as he handed her a steaming cup.

“My mother needs to see me before the assembly.” Their fingers brushed in the exchange, lingering longer than necessary. “She said she has to give me something from my father.”

Laykin sipped her coffee, studying him over the rim. “Something related to the covenant?”

“She didn’t specify, but it sounds like it.” Zyle leaned against the counter beside her, their shoulders touching. “The timing complicates things.”

“When has anything about this been convenient?” Laykin bumped her shoulder against his, a smile playing at her lips. “Inconvenient timing, inconvenient assassination attempts, inconvenient feelings...”

The teasing light in her eyes eased the tension in his shoulders. “Hey, hey. Our feelings are definitely not inconvenient.”

“Aren’t we a little touchy,” she laughed. Her ability to find humor in chaos had become as essential to him as breathing.

“We’ll need to split up,” he said, reluctance evident in his voice. “I’ll meet with my mother while Holden escorts you to the assembly. I’ll join you before anything happens.”

Laykin set down her cup, swiveling to face him. Her hands framed his face, thumbs tracing his cheekbones. “You better notbe late to our prides signing.” She kissed him lightly. “Uncle Marcello would have a field day.”

Zyle’s hands settled at her waist, holding her steady on the counter’s edge. “I wouldn’t dare risk it, Princess.” He nipped at her bottom lip, savoring her sharp intake of breath. “Every second counts when protecting what’s ours.”

She drew back, searching his face. “Be careful,” she whispered, the playfulness replaced by genuine concern.

Zyle lifted her from the counter, her body sliding against his as he set her on her feet. The brief contact sent heat coursing through him. “Holden will double security,” he promised, brushing his lips against her temple. “And I’ll have a direct line to you the entire time.”

Laykin nodded, fingers trailing down his arm as she stepped back. “I should get ready.” She moved toward the bedroom, pausing in the doorway to glance over her shoulder. “Don’t forget to text me after you see your mother.”

Zyle watched her retreat, committing to memory the way sunlight caught in her hair, the confident swing in her step despite the circumstances. His tiger growled its approval.

Mine, it insisted.Protect.

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