Page 27 of Claws and Effect (Paranormal Dating Agency #87)

TWENTY-SIX

L aykin stepped inside, momentarily speechless. Beyond the sitting area, French doors opened to a bedroom dominated by a massive four-poster bed draped with diaphanous curtains. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered the same spectacular mountain views as downstairs, though she noted the glass thickness suggested bulletproof materials.

But what truly grabbed her attention were the personal touches scattered throughout. On the dresser sat her favorite scented candles—the exact brand and fragrance she used at home. The bathroom counter displayed her preferred skincare line, products arranged precisely as she kept them in her own suite. A bookshelf held several volumes she recognized from her bedside table at Summit.

Most surprising of all, draped across a chaise lounge was a royal blue cashmere robe identical to her favorite comfort garment, the one she reached for after difficult days.

“How did you...” she began, running her fingers across the familiar softness.

“Seren helped,” Zyle admitted, watching her reaction carefully. “I wanted you to feel at home, not like a guest or... prisoner.”

The thoughtfulness behind the gesture—contacting her best friend, learning her preferences, ensuring familiar comforts surrounded her—penetrated Laykin’s defenses more effectively than any argument could have.

“Thank you,” she said simply, emotion thickening her voice.

Before he could respond, an alarm blared through the house. Steel shutters instantly descended over windows as emergency lighting activated. Zyle moved with startling speed, his body automatically positioning itself between Laykin and potential danger.

“Perimeter breach?” he demanded, one hand already reaching for her.

“No, sir,” a security voice came through hidden speakers. “False alarm. The system detected two maintenance staff signatures in an unauthorized zone.”

Zyle’s posture relaxed marginally, but his expression remained vigilant. “Run a complete security sweep anyway. Authorization code Rubin-Alpha-Seven.”

“Already in progress, sir.”

He turned to Laykin, concern etched across his features. “I should check the security center. Standard protocol with any alert.”

“Go ahead,” she assured him. “I’m perfectly capable of exploring my new quarters without an escort.”

“I’ll be back in twenty minutes,” he promised, hesitating before pressing a swift kiss to her forehead—a gesture so casual and domestic it caught her by surprise. “Don’t wander outside this wing. The override protocols during alerts can be... temperamental.”

As Zyle turned to leave, his hand brushed against what appeared to be an ordinary oak panel beside the fireplace. The wall slid open silently, revealing a hidden passage.

“Secret tunnels? Really?” Laykin raised an eyebrow.

“Panic room,” Zyle corrected. “This one connects to security and the master suite. In case of emergency, head straight there.” He pointed inside. “Code panel is on the right wall. Your access code is 2854.”

“What?” she said with sarcasm. “Not my birthday? How could I remember anything else?”

“The number of initial supporters for the treaty.” His mouth curved slightly. “Though your birthday is programmed as a backup.”

With that revelation, he disappeared down the hallway, leaving Laykin staring at the hidden doorway. Curiosity piqued, she stepped inside to examine the panic room entrance.

The heavily reinforced door slid closed behind her with an ominous click.

“No.” She spun around, pushing against the seamless panel that had become her prison wall. Finding no handle, she frantically searched for the control panel Zyle had mentioned.

There it was—sleek and modern on the right wall. She punched in 2854.

Nothing happened.

She tried her birthday. Still nothing.

A small red light blinked in the corner, accompanied by text she hadn’t noticed initially: SYSTEM OVERRIDE NOT ACTIVE DURING SECURITY ALERTS .

“Perfect,” Laykin muttered, a hysterical laugh bubbling in her throat. Three assassination attempts survived, only to get trapped in a billionaire’s panic room.

The space itself was impressive—approximately fifteen feet square with emergency supplies, communications equipment, a small bathroom, and even a narrow cot against one wall. The air system hummed quietly, maintaining perfect temperature and circulation.

Laykin slumped onto the cot, wincing as her injured side protested. At least her prison was comfortable.

Twenty minutes later, she heard muffled sounds of security personnel searching the house, presumably looking for her. Another fifteen minutes passed before voices approached the panic room door.

“—checked everywhere,” came Holden’s voice. “She’s not in any of the designated areas.”

“She wouldn’t leave,” Zyle’s voice replied, tension evident. “Not with her injuries. Expand the search to?—”

“The panic room,” Laykin called loudly, hoping her voice would carry through the reinforced door. “I’m locked in the panic room!”

Silence, then what sounded suspiciously like stifled laughter from Holden.

“Laykin?” Zyle’s voice came closer to the door. “How did you?—”

“You showed me the entrance and left while the security system was in override mode,” she replied dryly. “The door closed automatically behind me.”

More muffled conversation, followed by, “We’ll have you out in five minutes. Security override requires clearance from outside during active alerts.”

“Take your time,” she called back, suppressing her own laughter. “I’m enjoying this demonstration of your foolproof security system.”

This time, she definitely heard Holden laugh.

True to his word, the door slid open five minutes later to reveal Zyle, his expression caught between concern and amusement. Behind him, Holden struggled to maintain professional composure.

Laykin couldn’t help the laugh that escaped despite her pain and exhaustion. “Wait until Seren hears about this.”

Zyle growled, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward. “Are you all right?”

“Other than wounded pride and these actual wounds? Perfect.” She gestured to her bandaged side. “Though I wouldn’t mind lying down somewhere more comfortable than emergency bedding.”

Zyle’s eyes softened as he took in her pale face and the careful way she held herself to minimize pain. Without warning, he scooped her into his arms with gentle precision.

“What are you doing?” she protested, though her arms automatically circled his neck.

“Taking you to bed,” he replied, then paused as Holden cleared his throat meaningfully. “To rest,” Zyle clarified, shooting his friend a warning glance.

Despite her independent nature, Laykin found herself relaxing against his chest as he carried her. Her lioness purred contentedly at the protective gesture, and she was too exhausted to maintain her usual self-sufficiency.

He took her to his own suite rather than the one prepared for her—a space that managed to be both masculine and welcoming. Deep greens and rich woods created an atmosphere that reminded her of forests and open spaces rather than confining walls. The enormous bed dominated one wall while a sitting area with a fireplace occupied another corner.

Personal touches surprised her—books stacked on a nightstand, a half-finished game of chess on a side table, photographs in simple frames showing family moments rather than business achievements. This was Zyle’s private sanctuary, not a space designed to impress visitors.

“I’m glad we’re sharing a room,” she murmured as he laid her carefully on the bed. “It feels right.”

A hint of vulnerability flickered across his face. “I didn’t want you to feel pressured. The formal covenant arrangement?—”

“Has nothing to do with this,” she finished for him, capturing his hand in hers. “This is my choice.”

He disappeared into an adjoining bathroom, returning with a glass of water and pain medication. “The shifter doctor said since you’re letting your wounds heal in your human form, it would be a little slower. He advised you take these if the pain increases.”