Page 32 of Claws and Effect (Paranormal Dating Agency #87)

THIRTY-ONE

R eturning to the mountain home, they discovered someone had infiltrated Zyle’s fortress of solitude. Seren Brooks sat perched on his imported marble kitchen island, wine glass in hand, regaling Holden with what appeared to be embarrassing stories about Laykin’s youth.

“Your security systems need work,” Laykin whispered, amusement coloring her voice.

“Or your friend is actually a master criminal,” he muttered back.

Beside Seren sat what she called “essential supplies”—comfortable clothes, special-order cookies from Laykin’s favorite bakery, and enough wine for a small militia.

More disturbing than the security breach was Holden’s apparent complicity. His normally stoic head of security lounged against the counter, jacket discarded, tie loosened, laughing at whatever tale Seren currently spun.

“—so there’s Princess Laykin, covered head to toe in chocolate frosting, trying to convince the ambassador it’s a traditional lion greeting ritual!” Seren finished triumphantly.

“That’s a creative interpretation of events,” Laykin said dryly, announcing their presence.

Seren’s face lit up. “You’re back! Perfect timing—I was just getting to the part where you tried to bribe the kitchen staff to smuggle in a replacement cake.”

“Your friend has overthrown my security chief with chocolate chip cookies and embarrassing stories,” Zyle murmured to Laykin.

“Seren could charm secrets from a sphinx,” she replied, accepting a glass of wine. “It’s her superpower.”

“Security breach rebranded as a superpower. Convenient.”

“You’re just upset because your impenetrable fortress turned out to be vulnerable to baked goods.”

The accuracy of her assessment irritated him. He tried several subtle hints that their uninvited guests should leave—checking his watch, mentioning early meetings, even activating non-essential security protocols that should have signaled the end of social gatherings.

Nothing worked. Seren launched into yet another “remember when” story, this one involving Laykin’s disastrous attempt at ballroom dancing. As Holden leaned forward with genuine interest, Zyle resigned himself to an evening of invasion.

Warm fingers suddenly wrapped around his wrist. Laykin tugged him toward the stairs, mischief dancing in her eyes.

“They’ll figure it out eventually,” she whispered. “Or they won’t, and they can sleep on the couch.”

Something hungry flared in his chest at her conspiratorial smile. He followed willingly, tiger instincts humming beneath his skin at the promise in her expression.

Inside their bedroom, playfulness transformed into something more intense. Laykin backed him against the door, rising onto tiptoes to press her mouth to his. The kiss held nothing back—demanding, consuming, stripping away his careful control with devastating efficiency.

Her hands slipped beneath his shirt, palms scorching against his skin. Heat flooded his system, his tiger surging toward the surface with possessive need.

Then she winced—a tiny, involuntary flinch as her healing injuries protested the movement.

Zyle gently captured her wrists, restraining himself despite every instinct screaming for more contact. “You’re still healing,” he reminded her softly.

“I’m a shifter,” she countered, frustration flashing in her eyes. “I heal quickly.”

“Not quickly enough.” He maintained his grip when she tried to pull away.

“Stop treating me like I’m fragile.” Real hurt threaded through her irritation. “I know my own limits.”

The realization hit him like a physical blow—his protective instincts had once again overridden her independence. His tiger growled in confusion. Protect mate. But mate angry. Why?

“You’re right,” he acknowledged, pressing his forehead to hers. “I’m sorry.”

They settled on the bed, the heated moment cooled but not forgotten. Laykin curled against his side, her head resting on his shoulder.

“I’ve spent my life calculating risks, controlling variables,” he admitted into the quiet between them. “But with you, I can’t seem to control anything—least of all my reactions. When you were hurt, my logic disappeared. All that remained was the need to keep you safe, whatever the cost.”

Her fingers traced patterns over his heart. “That’s not weakness, you know.”

“Isn’t it?”

“It’s being human beneath all that tiger power and CEO authority.” She shifted to look directly into his eyes. “It’s what makes you more than just a strategic alliance to me.”

Her words burrowed deep into places he’d kept carefully guarded since his father’s death. Places where duty and responsibility couldn’t reach. Places where Laykin somehow kept finding her way despite his best defenses.

“I should get you some tea,” he said suddenly, needing space to process the intensity of emotions threatening to overwhelm him.

Her eyebrows shot up. “Tea? Now?”

“You need to rest. Tea helps with healing.”

“What I need,” Laykin replied, voice dropping to that husky register that short-circuited his higher brain functions, “is for you to stop worrying about my injuries and get back here.” Her fingers trailed down his chest. “You’ll regret this tactical retreat, Rubin.”

Every cell in his body screamed to stay, to take what she so clearly offered. His tiger clawed beneath his skin, bewildered and frustrated by his human side’s incomprehensible restraint.

“Five minutes,” he promised, escaping to the hallway before his control shattered completely.

Downstairs, Zyle braced himself against the kitchen counter, drawing deep breaths to calm his racing pulse. What was happening to him? A week ago, he’d approached this arrangement as a business merger—beneficial to both parties, emotionally uncomplicated. Now he couldn’t imagine his life without her laughter, her brilliance, her fierce independence.

Worse, he didn’t want to.

The realization should have terrified him. Instead, it settled into his chest with the inevitability of gravity.

“Trouble in paradise?” Seren’s voice startled him. She and Holden still occupied his kitchen, though they’d moved from wine to coffee.

“No trouble.” Zyle filled the kettle, focusing on the simple task to regain equilibrium. “Laykin needs rest.”

“And you needed escape,” Seren observed shrewdly. “Interesting.”

“I’m making tea.”

“You’re retreating from feelings,” she corrected, hopping up on the counter. “Classic avoidance behavior.”

Holden coughed to cover a laugh. Zyle shot him a betrayed glare.

“Your security chief has been quite informative,” Seren continued cheerfully. “Did you know you’ve never brought a woman to this house before? Not even for business meetings.”

“Personnel records are confidential,” Zyle growled at Holden.

“She’s very persuasive,” Holden defended himself, not looking remotely apologetic.

“Don’t blame him,” Seren waved dismissively. “I’m extremely good at information extraction. It’s why Laykin keeps me around.”

“I thought it was for your sparkling personality,” Zyle muttered, arranging tea bags with unnecessary precision.

“That too.” Seren tilted her head, studying him. “You really care about her, don’t you? Not just the alliance, but her—the stubborn, sometimes reckless, fiercely loyal woman who snorts when she laughs too hard.”

The kettle whistled, saving Zyle from having to answer directly. He focused on preparing the tea exactly as Laykin preferred—honey but no milk, steeped for precisely three minutes.

“She cares about you too,” Seren added more softly. “I haven’t seen her this happy in years.”

Something warm unfurled in his chest at her words.

“Boss,” Holden interrupted, expression shifting to professional concern while looking at the email on his watch. “The preliminary reports came in. We’ve identified the financial backers of the bear mercenaries.”

Zyle’s attention sharpened. “Names?”

“Multiple council members from both prides. I’ve uploaded the data to your secure server.” Holden lowered his voice. “Most troubling is Councilor Marcello’s involvement. Laykin’s uncle has deeper connections than we initially suspected.”

The implications crystallized in Zyle’s mind. If Laykin’s own family stood against their union, the danger extended far beyond random attacks.

“We’ll discuss this tomorrow,” he decided, picking up the tea mugs. “First priority is keeping Laykin safe while she heals.”

“Domestic bliss suits you,” Seren commented as he turned to leave. “Laykin mentioned you cook too. Hidden depths, Tiger Boy.”

“If you call me that again?—”

“You’ll do absolutely nothing,” she finished for him, grinning. “Laykin would pout, and you’re completely wrapped around her finger.”

Holden poorly disguised his laugh as a cough.

Zyle ignored them both, heading upstairs with the mugs. The weight of new information pressed against his shoulders, but it would keep until morning. Tonight belonged to Laykin.

He paused outside their bedroom door. Beyond it waited a woman who had, in the space of a week, dismantled every wall he’d carefully constructed over the years. A woman who challenged him, supported him, and somehow made him feel both more vulnerable and more powerful than he’d ever been.

The door opened silently under his touch. Laykin lay curled on their bed, golden hair spilled across his pillow, one hand stretched toward the space where he should be. Sleep had claimed her despite her earlier promises of retribution.

Setting the tea aside, Zyle slipped onto the bed beside her. She murmured something unintelligible, instinctively curling against him in sleep.

His tiger rumbled contentedly beneath his skin. Mate safe. Mate home.

For once, man and beast existed in perfect harmony.