Page 26 of Claws and Effect (Paranormal Dating Agency #87)
TWENTY-FIVE
T he castle’s medical wing pulsed with controlled chaos. Machines beeped steadily beside Laykin’s bed, monitoring vitals while IV fluids dripped through a line in her arm. Bandages wrapped her torso where the bear’s claws had torn deepest, the wounds already beginning to heal with shifter speed, though not quickly enough to erase the danger.
Her father paced near the window, his usual commanding presence diminished by worry that lined his face and stooped his shoulders. Her mother sat beside the bed, fingers interlaced with Laykin’s, thumb stroking methodically across her knuckles the way she’d done since Laykin was small.
Seren stood in the corner, face drained of color. “I should have talked you out of that run.”
“Like anyone can talk Laykin out of anything once she’s decided,” her mother said with a weak smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
The head of Summit security, a gray-haired lioness with decades of service to the pride, struggled through her explanation. “We’re still investigating. The bears shouldn’t have been able to penetrate our?—”
The door swung open with such force it slammed against the wall, silencing every voice in the room.
Zyle filled the doorway, his imposing height and broad shoulders making the space seem suddenly smaller. His perfectly tailored suit couldn’t disguise the tension radiating from his body. Silver rimmed his dark eyes—his tiger close to the surface—as his gaze swept the room before locking onto Laykin.
The naked fear in his expression caught her by surprise. Not calculated political concern or perfunctory worry for a treaty partner, but raw, unfiltered terror that someone he cared for had nearly died. In the seconds before he mastered his features, Laykin glimpsed vulnerability that transformed her understanding of him.
“This ends now,” he stated, voice deceptively quiet yet carrying to every corner. “She’s not staying here another minute.”
Laykin’s father stepped forward, bristling at the implied criticism. “This is our ancestral home?—”
“Where she’s been attacked three times in one week,” Zyle cut him off, voice dropping to a dangerous register that made the hair on Laykin’s arms rise. “Your security has been compromised. Bears don’t infiltrate feline territory without inside help.”
Holden appeared behind Zyle, offering a leather portfolio with a diplomat’s smoothness. “We can expedite the treaty signing immediately. Then Mr. Rubin can focus entirely on Princess Laykin’s safety while your teams investigate the security breach.”
“I understand the concern,” Laykin said, wincing as she pushed herself upright. Pain radiated through her side, but she fought to keep her voice steady. “But the attack happened here on Summit grounds. If we leave, we abandon our best chance to identify whoever’s coordinating these bears.”
Zyle’s expression hardened. “Your safety takes priority over the investigation.”
“The attacks are escalating,” she countered, her mind racing through the tactical implications. “These weren’t random bears—they were organized, trained. Someone with inside knowledge is orchestrating this, and our best leads are right here where it happened.”
The tension between them was palpable. Laykin understood his protective instinct—she even appreciated it—but this wasn’t merely about her pride or independence.
Her mother’s hand tightened around hers, drawing Laykin’s attention. Tears shimmered in eyes that rarely showed such raw emotion.
“The bears have made three attempts, Laykin,” she said quietly. “Each more aggressive than the last. I nearly lost you today.”
The fear in her mother’s eyes wasn’t political calculation but maternal terror. Her father’s face, too, had aged years in hours, deep lines carved around his mouth where none had been before.
“It’s my job to protect you,” Zyle said, his voice softening fractionally. “Not because you need protection, but because it’s what mates do—they keep each other safe.”
The simple statement, devoid of condescension or command, penetrated Laykin’s defenses. He wasn’t trying to control her movements or decisions; he was fulfilling the most basic instinct of any shifter—protecting his mate from harm.
“Fine,” she agreed, meeting his gaze directly. “But I expect to be part of the investigation, not sidelined while others solve this.”
Relief flickered across Zyle’s face, quickly masked by a businesslike nod. “As soon as the doctor clears you for transport.”
The armored SUV carved through mountain roads, each curve sending jolts of pain through Laykin’s bandaged side. Outside the bulletproof windows, ancient pines blurred into a green tapestry against granite cliffs. The landscape should have been beautiful—sunlight filtering through branches, casting dappled shadows across the winding road—but tension inside the vehicle tainted everything.
“You put guards on me without telling me,” Laykin finally broke the suffocating silence, unable to contain the accusation any longer.
“And they saved your life,” Zyle responded, his hand gently covering hers despite the unapologetic tone. “I won’t apologize for that.”
“You could have told me.”
“Would you have agreed to them?”
Her silence answered for her.
“You’re not a prisoner, Laykin,” he said, his voice softening. “But I refuse to lose you to an assassin’s blade when I could prevent it.”
His fingers interlaced with hers, thumb stroking small circles against her palm.
“I’ve spent my entire life protecting what’s important to me,” he continued, eyes fixed on their joined hands. “My family. My pride. My company. It’s not about control—it’s about duty. About responsibility.”
“I understand duty,” she replied, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly. “But I’m not accustomed to someone else making decisions about my safety. I’ve been trained since childhood to protect myself.”
“And you’ve done admirably,” he acknowledged, surprising her. “Three bears would have killed most shifters, even alphas. But even the strongest fighter can be overwhelmed by numbers or caught off guard.”
His candid recognition of her abilities soothed something raw inside her. Not condescension or dismissal of her skills, but pragmatic assessment of realistic threats.
“Tell me about the estate we’re heading to,” she requested, deliberately transitioning to neutral territory. “Is it your primary residence?”
“One of three,” he replied, gratitude for the subject change evident in his relaxed posture. “This one’s in the mountains, built into the natural landscape for both aesthetic and security reasons. My father started its construction, but I finished it after his death.”
The mountain road curved again, revealing glimpses of a sprawling structure integrated into rocky terrain ahead. As they drew closer, the estate came into view—a modern architectural marvel of stone, steel, and glass that seemed to emerge organically from the mountainside rather than imposing upon it.
Massive gates parted as their vehicle approached, security personnel visible at multiple points along the perimeter wall. The driveway curved through meticulously landscaped grounds where ornamental features cleverly disguised defense measures. Motion sensors masqueraded as garden lighting. Decorative stone pillars concealed surveillance equipment. Even the picturesque pond likely harbored underwater barriers.
“Your security rivals a military compound,” she observed as staff approached to unload her hastily packed luggage.
“Paranoia and preparation are separated only by time,” he replied cryptically, coming around to open her door. His hand on the small of her back guided her toward imposing entrance doors that swung open silently at their approach.
Inside, the mansion revealed itself in stark contrast to Summit’s centuries-old opulence. Where her family home celebrated its royal heritage with gilded ceilings and ancestral portraits, Zyle’s residence embraced modern minimalism elevated by exquisite materials. Soaring ceilings gave the entrance atrium an airy openness, while floor-to-ceiling windows showcased breathtaking mountain views.
Yet despite its contemporary design, the space felt unexpectedly warm. Plush rugs softened polished stone floors. Artwork—not ostentatiously displayed but thoughtfully integrated—added touches of color and interest. A massive fireplace dominated one wall, currently unlit but promising cozy comfort when evening came.
“The entire property uses geothermal energy,” Zyle explained as they passed through the atrium. “Solar panels supplement during peak usage. We’re completely off-grid with backup systems capable of running everything for months if necessary.”
“Planning for the apocalypse?” Laykin asked, only partially joking.
“Planning for contingencies,” he corrected, leading her down a wide corridor adorned with what appeared to be original paintings by contemporary masters. “The ground floor contains common areas—kitchen, dining room, library, entertainment spaces. The east wing houses my offices and security center. The west wing contains guest suites for visiting dignitary protection.”
“And where am I staying?” she asked, noticing how staff members nodded respectfully but kept their distance, affording them privacy.
“Second floor, master wing. It’s the most secure area of the house.” He hesitated, an uncharacteristic moment of uncertainty crossing his features. “I’ve prepared adjacent suites. Yours connects to mine with a shared sitting room between.”
Laykin stopped abruptly in the hallway. “Adjacent? Not shared?”
Confusion flickered across Zyle’s face. “I didn’t want to presume?—”
“After everything we’ve shared, I thought it was fairly obvious where I want to sleep,” Laykin interrupted, a hint of challenge in her voice.
Something warm flickered in Zyle’s eyes—relief, perhaps, or pleasure—before he nodded. “Then my suite is yours as well.”
The consideration behind his hesitation—not assuming rights that politics had already granted him—touched Laykin deeply even as she marveled at his restraint. For a man whose reputation suggested dominance in all things, his respect for her choices revealed respect she hadn’t anticipated.
An elevator disguised within what appeared to be a decorative alcove carried them to the second floor. The hallway here felt more intimate with warm lighting and fewer of the obvious security features that dominated downstairs.
“We’ll share the other suite, but if you need your own space, this is your suite,” Zyle indicated, opening double doors that revealed a spacious sitting room decorated in soothing blues and soft creams.