Page 21 of Claws and Effect (Paranormal Dating Agency #87)

TWENTY

W hen she raised her eyes to his, Zyle reached across the counter to take her hand. “I’ve spent my life following the path laid out for me. Running the corporation. Leading the pride. Never questioning the arranged mating that would eventually secure our future.” His thumb traced circles on her palm. “But this—what happened between us—transcends politics and pride expectations.”

“How can you be so sure?” Challenge sparked in her hazel eyes. “We barely know each other.”

“My tiger recognized you before I knew your name.” Zyle locked his gaze with hers, letting her see the silver rim his emotions triggered. “That means something among our kind.”

“My lioness did the same.” Her admission emerged as a whisper, creating an intimate bubble around them that shut out the rest of the world. “That scares me more than any contract.”

“Why?”

“Because contracts can be broken. Fated bonds can’t.” She squeezed his hand. “Suddenly there’s much more at stake than pride alliances.”

The raw honesty in her voice matched something building in his own chest. Zyle had built his empire on strategic planning and cold calculation. But with Laykin, every carefully constructed wall crumbled at her touch.

Her eyes flicked to the clock on the wall, and she sighed. “I should go. I have a charity board meeting at ten.”

“I’ll drive you,” he offered immediately, already calculating the security measures needed.

“No need. Seren’s picking me up.” Laykin slid off the barstool. “Though I might need to borrow clothes. Unless you prefer I attend a board meeting in evening wear or just your shirt.”

The image of her walking around in nothing but his shirt sent heat racing through him. “As tempting as that is, I suspect the board might raise objections.”

Thirty minutes later, they stood by the door, Laykin now dressed in yoga pants Seren brought. But instead of changing into the blouse her friend had provided, Laykin had put on Zyle’s T-shirt, the soft fabric swimming on her small frame.

“Your shirt...” she shrugged, a hint of color touching her cheeks, “it smells like you. Makes me feel like you’re with me.”

Something fierce and tender unfurled in Zyle’s chest at her admission.

“I’ll call you later?” she asked, uncertainty flashing across her face.

Rather than answer with words, Zyle pulled her against him, one hand cradling her face while the other pressed possessively against the small of her back. The kiss started gentle but quickly blazed into something hungry and demanding. Her fingers tangled in his hair as she pressed closer, soft curves molding against him.

When they finally broke apart, both breathing heavily, Zyle rested his forehead against hers. “Be careful today,” he murmured. “Stay with Seren and keep the guards close.”

“Guards?” Laykin pulled back slightly. “What guards?”

Zyle kept his expression neutral. “The Summit security detail assigned to you, of course.”

What he didn’t mention was a team of his own elite operatives already stationed throughout the charity’s building, or the two Rubin security specialists posing as tourists who would shadow her all day. What she didn’t know wouldn’t make her bristle at his protectiveness.

“Worried about me, Mr. Rubin?” Teasing laced her tone.

“Yes.” The simple honesty of his answer clearly surprised her.

After one final, brief kiss, she slipped out the door. Zyle stood motionless in the entryway, surrounded by the lingering scent of her perfume mingled with his own. The emptiness of the apartment pressed against him with unexpected weight.

His tiger growled in agreement as he turned and strode purposefully toward his bedroom. He showered quickly, the hot water doing little to wash away the constant undercurrent of concern for Laykin’s safety. With practiced efficiency, he dressed in a charcoal suit that his tailor had reinforced to accommodate partial shifts—a precaution that had proven useful more than once during tense business negotiations.

As he knotted his tie with swift, precise movements, Zyle mentally cataloged the security measures already in place and those still needed. The two operatives shadowing Laykin weren’t enough. He needed a more comprehensive approach.

He took the private elevator from his penthouse down to the executive floor of Rubin Tower, the skyscraper he owned in the heart of Manhattan’s financial district. The building housed the headquarters of Rubin Corp International with Zyle’s personal offices occupying the entire top floor, just below his two-story penthouse. The arrangement allowed him to move between home and work without ever needing to step outside—a security feature he’d insisted upon when designing the building.

In his office suite, he activated the secure communication system that connected directly to his head of security. Three calls and a dozen terse commands later, surveillance had been doubled around Laykin’s regular locations, background checks on all Summit security personnel were underway, and a safe house had been prepared should evacuation become necessary.

Fifteen minutes after these arrangements were made, the executive elevator chimed announcing Holden and Malachi’s arrival. Zyle stood behind his desk, satellite images of the Summit Pride territories already displayed on the wall-sized screen.

“This isn’t just about business anymore.” Zyle’s voice cut through the silence as they entered, not bothering with pleasantries. “She could have been killed. Twice.”

Holden and Malachi exchanged glances across the conference table. Zyle had summoned them immediately after Laykin left, laying out a detailed timeline of both attacks with cold precision. But the silver rim around his eyes betrayed the emotion behind his analytical facade.

“You actually care about her,” Malachi observed, none of his usual teasing present. “Beyond the arrangement.”

Zyle didn’t waste energy denying it. “Someone is trying to stop this treaty by any means necessary.” Silver flashed brighter in his eyes. “And they’re targeting her specifically.”

He slammed a fist onto the mahogany table, the impact sending tremors through the solid wood. “I want whoever’s responsible found. Now.”

Holden, ever practical, tapped notes into his tablet. “The attacker from the rooftop hasn’t talked yet, but his credentials check out as legitimate Summit security. Whoever’s behind this has access to insider resources.”

“Or paid for them,” Zyle countered, pacing the length of the window. Outside, Manhattan stretched below, unaware of the predator plotting protection and retribution thirty stories above.

“The timing is significant,” Holden continued. “Both attacks occurred at moments that would have maximum impact on treaty proceedings.”

“Someone doesn’t want our prides united.” Zyle stopped his pacing, staring out at the city. “The question is why. The economic and political advantages benefit both sides.”

“Unless it’s ideological,” Malachi suggested. “Old-school purists who oppose cross-species alliances.”

Zyle nodded, the pieces aligning in his mind. “Holden, dig deeper into the captured attacker. Use whatever resources necessary—legal or otherwise.” He turned from the window, his expression leaving no room for objection. “Malachi, probe for opposition within Summit Pride. Discreetly.”

“You think someone in her own pride wants her dead?” Malachi straightened in his chair.

“I think someone wants this treaty stopped at any cost,” Zyle replied, his voice dangerously soft. “Find out who.”

“What about her security?” Holden asked.

“I’m doubling it. Our people, not Summit guards.” The command held no space for debate. “And I want daily reports on her movements, security protocols, and risk assessments.”

As his brother and friend left to execute his orders, Zyle remained at the window, staring unseeing at the cityscape below. His tiger paced restlessly beneath his skin, agitated by threats to their mate.

Mate . There it was again—the instinctive designation his tiger insisted upon despite the absence of any formal claiming ritual. Yet something primal and unbreakable had formed between them, transcending contracts and political alliances.

His phone vibrated with a message from Laykin: Made it to the meeting. Your clothes smell like you—comforting in a room full of stuffy board members.

The simple text calmed his tiger instantly. Be safe, he replied. Call me when you’re done.