Page 67 of Claws and Effect

Zyle remained motionless in the chair, allowing the deception to continue.

“Actually,” Marcello continued, his tone shifting to something colder, more calculating, “this situation presents an opportunity. The princess is missing—perhaps permanently if my men followed orders correctly.”

Laykin’s breath caught. Even expecting it, the casual admission of his betrayal stung.

“With no heir and no contract, the pride faces uncertainty.” Marcello approached the desk, his posture relaxing as he believed himself alone with his brother. “I believe it’s time for new leadership. The old ways—your ways—have weakened us. There will be no joining with the tigers. There will be no dilution of our bloodlines.”

Zyle swiveled the chair slowly, revealing himself. “Is that so?”

Marcello recoiled as if struck. “Rubin! Where is the king? Where are the queen and the elders?”

“Safe,” Zyle replied, his voice deadly calm as he rose from the chair. “Far beyond your reach.”

“What have you done?” Marcello’s shock transformed into rage. “This is Summit Pride business! You have no authority here!”

“Don’t I?” Zyle’s smile held no warmth. “As Laykin’s mate and co-signatory to the covenant, I have every authority.”

“Covenant?” Marcello’s face contorted. “There is no paper trail! The ceremony never happened!”

“The ceremony is a formality. The document was signed twenty minutes ago.” Zyle circled the desk slowly, hismovements predatory. “With proper witnesses. The alliance is official, Marcello. Your little coup has failed before it began.”

“Impossible!” Spittle flew from Marcello’s lips. “Laykin is dead! I made sure of it this time! My men couldn’t possibly have failed again!”

“They failed,” Zyle confirmed, continuing his slow advance. “Though not for lack of trying. They left quite a mark on her. A debt I intend to repay personally.”

Understanding dawned in Marcello’s eyes. Fear replaced rage as he backed toward the door. “You can’t touch me. I’m a royal councilor, the king’s brother?—”

“You’re a traitor who tried to murder your own niece.” Zyle’s voice dropped to a growl as silver bled into his eyes. “You’re a coward who sent others to do your killing while you played the concerned uncle.”

Marcello’s hand found the door handle. “Stay back! Guards! Guards!”

No one came. The halls remained silent, all attention focused on the assembly hall and the search for the missing princess.

“Why?” Zyle asked, genuinely curious despite his rage. “Why betray your family? Your pride?”

Marcello’s lip curled. “Myfamilyhas always overlooked me! Mypridefollows a weak king who would mix our royal bloodlines with—with your kind!” He spat the words. “I should have been king! I should have led the pride to glory, not watched it become diluted through political marriages!”

“So you chose to murder your way to power instead.” Zyle’s voice remained conversational even as his body began to change, bones shifting beneath his skin.

Marcello’s eyes widened in terror. “The contract would have ruined everything! With Laykin dead and her parents next, the throne would pass to me! The succession laws are clear!”

“The covenant specifies mutual governance in case of succession disruption,” Zyle corrected him, his words distorting as his mouth elongated. “Your plan was doomed from the start.”

On the security monitors, Laykin watched as Zyle’s transformation accelerated—clothes tearing as his massive tiger form emerged with explosive force. Marcello screamed, yanking the door open and fleeing into the corridor. Zyle’s tiger charged after him, powerful shoulders demolishing a portion of the doorway in his haste.

“We need to move,” Laykin told Seren, pushing herself to her feet. “He’ll tear the palace apart in this state.”

They rushed through the corridors, following the sounds of destruction. Crashes and roars echoed through the ancient halls as they approached the grand reception room—a cavernous space lined with priceless artifacts and portraits of Summit Pride royalty.

They arrived to find chaos—furniture shattered, tapestries torn from walls, and in the center, a massive white tiger circling a golden lion. Marcello had shifted, choosing to fight rather than continue a futile escape.

Blood matted the lion’s mane where Zyle’s claws had already found their mark. The tiger showed injuries too—a deep gash along his flank that would have disabled a lesser animal. Neither showed any sign of backing down.

Marcello lunged first, desperation making him reckless. Zyle met the attack head-on, massive paws batting the lion aside with contemptuous ease. The tiger’s superior weight and power showed as he drove Marcello back, step by relentless step.

Tables splintered beneath them as they crashed through the room’s center. A display case containing ceremonial weapons shattered, scattering ancient daggers across the marble floor. Priceless porcelain vases became casualties as Zyle pursued his prey with single-minded focus.

The fight held a terrible beauty—two apex predators locked in mortal combat, moving with deadly grace despite their size. Laykin found herself unable to look away even as her heart seized each time Marcello’s claws found purchase in Zyle’s white fur.

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