Page 61 of Claws and Effect

For once, Zyle found himself in complete agreement with his animal side.

FORTY-EIGHT

His mother’s estate sprawled across a hillside overlooking the valley, its classical architecture a nod to family tradition while the high-tech security systems represented modernity. Frances met him at the door, immaculately dressed despite the early hour, her silver-streaked hair styled in its usual elegant bob.

“Thank you for coming so quickly.” She embraced him briefly before leading him through the mansion’s winding corridors toward his father’s study.

The double doors carved with the Rubin family crest—a tiger with sapphire eyes, watching over crossed swords—stood closed at the end of the hallway. Frances hesitated before them, her hand on the brass handle.

“I know today is an important day and I have something,” she explained. “After all this time, I thought...” She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. What matters is what I’m supposed to give you.”

The doors swung open, releasing the scent of aged leather, paper, and the faintest trace of his father’s cologne. Zyle paused on the threshold, memories washing over him. How many times had he stood here as a child, watching his father work atthat massive oak desk? How many lessons on leadership and responsibility had been delivered from behind that polished surface?

The room remained largely as his father had left it—bookshelves lined with leather-bound volumes, artifacts from business travels displayed in glass cases, the worn leather chair still positioned to catch morning light for reading.

Frances crossed to the desk, picking up a leather-bound journal. “Read this,” she said softly, her eyes bright with unshed tears as she opened it to a marked page.

Zyle accepted the journal, recognizing his father’s bold, slashing handwriting immediately. The entry was dated eighteen years ago when Zyle had been twenty—still finding his footing in the family business, still proving himself worthy of his father’s legacy.

I watchedZyle today with the board members.He has a natural authority that cannot be taught. The others sense it, respect it, even fear it at times. He will surpass me one day, of this I have no doubt. My only concern remains his isolation. Business success means nothing without personal fulfillment. I hope he will one day find happiness with the lioness princess he was so captivated with as a child. Some connections transcend time and circumstance.

The words blurredbefore Zyle’s eyes. His grip tightened on the journal, knuckles whitening. “What lioness princess?” His voice emerged rougher than intended. “What is he talking about?”

Frances watched him, something like compassion softening her features. “You don’t remember, do you?”

Zyle shook his head, pulse quickening.

Frances moved to the window, sunlight illuminating her profile. “We visited Summit Palace after Laykin’s birth—a formal introduction between the prides. Protocol, nothing more.” She turned, eyes distant with memory. “But you... oh, Zyle. The moment you saw her in her little cradle, you wouldn’t leave her side. You growled—actually growled—at anyone who came too close, including her own father.”

The image struck Zyle like a physical blow. “I growled at King Leoric?”

“He thought it was charming.” Frances smiled. “Said it was the first time someone had challenged his authority and lived to tell about it.”

Zyle set the journal down carefully, struggling to process this revelation. “I don’t remember any of this.”

“You wouldn’t—you were so young.” Frances sat on the edge of the desk, her expression growing serious. “What you experienced is rare, even among shifters. Early mate recognition.”

The words landed like stones in a still pond, ripples of understanding expanding outward. Zyle’s tiger surged beneath his skin, a sudden certainty flooding through him. Memories flashed through his mind—the immediate, visceral reaction to seeing Laykin fighting off her attackers; the way his tiger had roaredMATEbefore his human side could comprehend what was happening; the inexplicable comfort he found in her presence, even when they argued.

A strange pressure built in his chest, something between pain and exhilaration. “You’re saying Laykin and I?—”

“Were always meant to find each other.” Frances nodded. “After your father died, Juliette and I spoke about bringing our prides together. But we also spoke about bringingyoutogether with your true mate.”

Understanding dawned, sharp and sudden. “The arranged mating was deliberate.” His voice sounded distant to his own ears. “But her sister?—”

“A necessary complication.” Frances had the grace to look slightly abashed. “We knew forcing you together would only create resentment. You’re both too stubborn. But duty—” She gestured expressively. “Thatyou would respond to.”

Zyle paced the length of the study, mind racing to reassess everything he thought he knew. Their meeting in the forest hadn’t been chance—not completely. The way Laykin seemed to fit against him, how quickly they’d adapted to each other’s presence, how fiercely his tiger responded to her—none of it had been random or convenient.

He stopped before his father’s desk, emotions churning beneath his usually controlled exterior. Anger at being manipulated warred with a deeper, more profound realization: no matter how they’d come together, Laykin was his. Had always been his since before either of them had any say in the matter.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” The question emerged as more accusation than inquiry.

Frances approached him slowly. “Would you have believed me? Or would you have resisted the very idea that fate had any claim on your choices?”

FORTY-NINE

The question struck home. His younger self would have rejected such mysticism, such loss of control. Perhaps he needed to meet Laykin as equals first—to choose her for himself before understanding they had been chosen for each other long ago.

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