Page 23 of Claws and Effect (Paranormal Dating Agency #87)

TWENTY-TWO

Z yle ignored him, lining up a shot at the pool table that sent three balls into pockets with machine-like precision.

“Did you know,” Malachi announced to no one in particular, “that my stone-cold brother actually growled—full-on tiger growled—when his security chief reported that a Summit councilman stood too close to Princess Laykin yesterday? He wasn’t even there, but just hearing about it nearly triggered a shift.”

Holden snorted. “That’s nothing. He called the head chef at Le Cirque this morning and had the entire menu adjusted because he found out the princess has a shellfish allergy.”

“I didn’t change their menu,” Zyle corrected with dignity. “I merely suggested that our dinner reservation tomorrow might go more smoothly if they prepared appropriate alternatives.”

“You threatened to cancel a standing reservation your family has held for twenty years over a lobster bisque,” Holden translated.

“She’s allergic to shellfish. It’s a security concern.” Zyle’s tone dared them to argue.

His phone vibrated with a text. Without thinking, he reached for it immediately, triggering another round of shots and laughter from both men.

The message wasn’t from Laykin but from his head of security, confirming that her car had returned safely to her residence twenty minutes ago. Relief loosened a knot of tension in Zyle’s shoulders he hadn’t realized was there.

“I’ve got it!” Malachi sat up suddenly, nearly toppling off the pool table. “We should call the girls! See if their night is as wild as ours.”

“No,” Zyle responded instantly.

“Come on! Girls’ night versus boys’ night. Cosmic alignment!” Malachi’s grin widened. “Ten bucks says they’re talking about us right now.”

“You will do no such thing,” Zyle warned, but his phone chose that moment to ring, Laykin’s custom ringtone cutting through the room.

His heart jumped in his chest. Malachi, with the inexplicable speed of younger siblings everywhere, lunged across the room and snatched the phone before Zyle could react.

“Welcome to Tiger Town, your majesty!” Malachi crowed into the speaker, dancing away from Zyle’s grasp.

Instead of a greeting, they heard muffled voices and what sounded like Seren laughing in the background.

“Hello? Princess Laykin?” Malachi tried again, raising his eyebrows at Zyle.

More background noises came through the speaker, but no direct response.

“I think it’s a butt dial,” Holden suggested, moving closer.

Then they heard Seren’s voice more clearly. “Are you still trying to text him? Give it up already and have another glass.”

“I was not texting him,” Laykin’s voice came through, clearly not addressing the phone. “I was just checking my messages.”

“Right,” Seren drawled. “That’s why you’ve mentioned his name twenty times in the last hour.”

“I have not!” Laykin protested, voice growing louder as if she’d moved closer to her phone without realizing it was connected.

Malachi’s eyes widened with delight as he mouthed to Zyle: “Butt dial jackpot!”

“No, but seriously,” she continued, clearly addressing Seren rather than the phone, “he’s nothing like what everyone says. Everyone talks about Zyle Rubin being this cold, calculating businessman, but he’s so...”

The three men froze, Malachi dramatically shushing Holden with a finger to his lips.

“...sweet and romantic,” Laykin’s voice softened. “And protective in this way that should offend my feminist sensibilities but actually makes my lioness purr. Like when he took that knife for me? Who does that?”

Heat bloomed in Zyle’s chest at her words. His expression must have betrayed something because Malachi clutched his heart and mimed swooning.

Seren’s voice cut through their eavesdropping. “Girl, you’re so done for. Another drink for mentioning him.”

“We’re playing the same drinking game!” Malachi shouted before Holden could stop him, accidentally revealing their eavesdropping and causing chaos on both ends of the line.

“What the—” Laykin’s voice turned mortified. “Are you on speakerphone? Have you been listening this whole time?”

“Surprise!” Malachi sang out. “Bros’ night meets girls’ night! Cosmically aligned alcohol consumption!”

“How much did you hear?” Laykin demanded.

“Enough to know I’m sweet and romantic,” Zyle finally spoke, taking the phone from his brother. “High praise from a woman who fights off armed attackers in designer heels.”

“Oh god.” The embarrassment in her voice was palpable. “In my defense, shifter metabolism or not, five bottles of wine between two people is a lot.”

“Five bottles?” Holden whistled. “Impressive.”

“That’s all Seren’s fault,” Laykin protested. “She insisted we needed to properly celebrate our ‘finally getting some’ party.”

Malachi howled with laughter as Seren’s indignant “Laykin!” exploded through the speaker.

The call devolved into hilarious cross-talk, with Seren and Malachi encouraging increasingly embarrassing revelations while Zyle and Laykin attempted to maintain some dignity.

“Did he tell you about the time he practiced asking you to dinner in front of his bathroom mirror?” Holden contributed unexpectedly, earning a betrayed look from Zyle.

“That never happened,” Zyle insisted, though the slight flush on his cheeks betrayed him.

“Did she mention she asked me if tiger shifters purr during sex?” Seren countered, to Laykin’s mortified gasp.

“I did not!” Laykin protested. “I asked if they purr in general. For scientific research purposes.”

“And what was the conclusion of this scientific research?” Zyle asked, his voice dropping to a register that silenced the room.

The momentary quiet crackled with electricity before Laykin answered, her voice equally low. “Inconclusive. More testing required.”

Malachi made gagging noises in the background while Holden unsuccessfully suppressed a laugh.

The night ended with plans for all five to meet for brunch the next day, leaving Zyle with both confirmation of Laykin’s genuine feelings and the unfamiliar warmth of friendship and connection.

After Holden crashed in the guest room and Malachi passed out face-down on the couch, Zyle retreated to his bedroom. The sheets still carried Laykin’s scent, a potent reminder of the night they’d shared. He picked up his phone, hesitating only briefly before sending a text:

I’ve never been happier about a misdial. Sleep well, my lioness.

Her reply came seconds later: Remind me to murder Seren tomorrow. But save Malachi for me—I need blackmail material on you.

Zyle smiled in the darkness. I look forward to supplying it.

Setting his phone aside, he lay back on pillows that still smelled of her perfume. The realization that had been building all day crystallized with perfect clarity: he was falling irrevocably for Princess Laykin Barclay, treaty or no treaty. His tiger had recognized her immediately as their mate. His human side had finally caught up.

For the first time since his father’s death had thrust him into leadership of both corporation and pride, Zyle allowed himself to want something solely for himself, not for duty or obligation.

He wanted Laykin. Not as a political alliance, but as his partner, his equal, his mate.

And Zyle Rubin had never failed to claim what was rightfully his.