Page 2 of Claws and Effect (Paranormal Dating Agency #87)
ONE
S unlight spilled through gossamer curtains, painting golden stripes across Laykin Barclay’s silk sheets. The familiar melody of an ancestral pride song drifted up from the courtyard below. Laykin buried her face deeper into her pillow as if the Egyptian cotton could shield her from the reality awaiting her.
Her phone buzzed on the nightstand. The royal family crest flashed on the screen—her mother. Again.
Laykin groaned and swiped to read the message.
Don’t forget—final fittings at 10. Engagement ball gown AND tonight’s gala attire. The Rubins expect perfection.
“Because nothing says ‘welcome to the family’ like crushing my ribcage two days in a row,” Laykin muttered, pushing herself up.
She padded to the bay window overlooking the Summit Pride’s ancestral grounds. Manicured gardens blended into natural savannah and ancient stone structures rose among modern security installations. In the courtyard, two young lionesses practiced a ceremonial dance, their movements fluid and precise.
Laykin ran her fingers along the ornate invitation on her desk—tomorrow’s engagement ceremony with Zyle Rubin, heir to the Rubin tiger fortune and her future mate. The thick parchment featured intertwined lion and tiger silhouettes embossed in gold.
A sharp knock broke her reverie.
“Unless you’re bringing coffee and a one-way ticket to Tahiti, go away,” Laykin called out.
The door swung open anyway. Seren Brooks sauntered in carrying a steaming mug in one hand and two garment bags in the other. Her dark curls bounced with each step, eyes sparkling with mischief.
“No Tahiti, but I did convince the kitchen to add an extra shot of espresso.” Seren handed over the mug with a flourish. “You look like you haven’t slept in days.”
Laykin inhaled the rich aroma. “Sleep requires the absence of existential dread.”
“You’re being dramatic.” Seren hung the garment bags on the wardrobe door. “Tonight is just the welcome gala. The actual engagement spectacle isn’t until tomorrow.”
“Oh, is that all?” Laykin arched an eyebrow. “Just a room full of elders scrutinizing my every move tonight, followed by being presented to a complete stranger as his future mate tomorrow. You’re right, totally overreacting.”
Seren flopped onto the velvet bench at the foot of Laykin’s bed. “In the animal kingdom, most species don’t make nearly this much fuss about mating. Why can’t we just sniff butts and call it a day like normal animals?”
Coffee sprayed from Laykin’s mouth. “Please suggest that at the next pride council meeting. I’d pay good money to see Elder Griffith’s face.”
“I’ll add it to the agenda.” Seren grinned, standing to unzip the first garment bag. “Speaking of traditions that should be abolished, let’s start with tomorrow’s torture device.”
The gown that emerged made Laykin pause mid-sip. Unlike the stuffy formal attire she’d expected, this dress was... stunning. Deep emerald green—her favorite color—with delicate gold embroidery that would highlight her hazel eyes. The cut was modern yet elegant with clean lines that would emphasize her curves without restricting movement.
“That’s... not what I expected,” Laykin admitted, approaching the garment.
“Your mother said it was originally commissioned for Caroline, but...” Seren trailed off, carefully watching Laykin’s reaction.
The mention of her sister’s name hung between them. Caroline had vanished three weeks ago, leaving Laykin to step into her role as treaty bride.
“But it looks exactly like something I would choose,” Laykin finished, running her fingers over the silk. “Not Caroline’s style at all.”
“Your mother has excellent taste,” Seren said diplomatically. “And the foresight to have your measurements on file with the designer.”
Laykin narrowed her eyes. “How convenient.”
“Let’s try it on before you start another conspiracy theory,” Seren urged, already reaching for Laykin’s robe sash.
Twenty minutes later, Laykin stood before her full-length mirror, surprised by her reflection. The engagement gown fit perfectly—hugging her curves before flowing gracefully to the floor. The emerald color made her skin glow and her eyes shine.
“I can actually breathe in this,” Laykin noted with surprise, taking an experimental deep breath.
“Revolutionary concept—formal wear that doesn’t double as torture devices.” Seren circled her, adjusting a fold here and there. “You look magnificent. Even with that expression.”
“What expression?”
“The one that says you’d rather wrestle a crocodile than attend your own engagement ceremony.” Seren placed her hands on Laykin’s shoulders. “Seriously, you’re about to be mated to the most eligible alpha bachelor in shifter society, and you look like you’re sucking on lemons.”
Laykin snorted. “I’m sure Zyle Rubin is a paragon of charm and warmth.”
“Have you even seen a photo of him?”
“No, and neither have you.”
“I tried to find one,” Seren admitted, scrolling through her phone. “Nothing. The man’s like a corporate ghost. Plenty of articles about his business deals, but not a single photo.”
“How is that possible in this century?” Laykin asked, genuinely perplexed.
“Apparently, Zyle Rubin values his privacy. The press release only described him as ‘the formidable tiger shifter behind Rubin Corp’s global expansion.’ Not exactly helpful.”
“Great,” Laykin sighed. “I don’t even know what my future mate looks like.”
“I’m picturing tall, uptight, and scowly,” Seren offered. “With little spectacles and a pocket protector.”
Laykin snorted despite herself. “Thanks for that mental image.”
“Now, for tonight’s gala ensemble.” Seren helped Laykin out of the gown and reached for the second garment bag. “This one’s more traditional royal wear, I’m afraid.”
The gala gown was undeniably regal—deep burgundy silk with intricate gold threading that formed subtle lion motifs along the bodice. Higher collar, more structured shoulders, and a slightly more conservative cut—the perfect blend of tradition and elegance expected of the Summit princess at a formal pride gathering.