Page 54 of Claws and Effect (Paranormal Dating Agency #87)

FIFTY-THREE

M urmurs rippled through the assembly. The camera caught Marcello’s face, a flash of triumph quickly masked by manufactured concern as he rose to speak.

“Your Majesty, perhaps I might assist in the search? As her uncle?—”

“That won’t be necessary,” King Leoric interrupted. “Security forces have already been dispatched.”

Marcello’s expression darkened momentarily before smoothing into solicitous worry. “Of course, brother. Please let me know how I might help.”

“I will be in my study.” The king departed without further explanation, leaving confusion in his wake. Laykin watched the monitors intently as Marcello remained in his seat for several long moments, apparently deep in thought. Finally, he rose and slipped from the assembly hall through a side door.

“He’s heading for the study,” Seren whispered unnecessarily as they tracked his progress through the palace corridors.

Laykin’s heart hammered against her ribs. On the central monitor, Zyle sat in her father’s chair, back to the door, perfectly positioned to be mistaken for the king from behind.

The study door opened. Marcello entered, closing it quietly behind him.

“Brother,” he began, his voice carrying clearly through the microphones. “I’ve been thinking about this formal covenant situation.”

Zyle remained motionless in the chair, allowing the deception to continue.

“Actually,” Marcello continued, his tone shifting to something colder, more calculating, “this situation presents an opportunity. The princess is missing—perhaps permanently if my men followed orders correctly.”

Laykin’s breath caught. Even expecting it, the casual admission of his betrayal stung.

“With no heir and no contract, the pride faces uncertainty.” Marcello approached the desk, his posture relaxing as he believed himself alone with his brother. “I believe it’s time for new leadership. The old ways—your ways—have weakened us. There will be no joining with the tigers. There will be no dilution of our bloodlines.”

Zyle swiveled the chair slowly, revealing himself. “Is that so?”

Marcello recoiled as if struck. “Rubin! Where is the king? Where are the queen and the elders?”

“Safe,” Zyle replied, his voice deadly calm as he rose from the chair. “Far beyond your reach.”

“What have you done?” Marcello’s shock transformed into rage. “This is Summit Pride business! You have no authority here!”

“Don’t I?” Zyle’s smile held no warmth. “As Laykin’s mate and co-signatory to the covenant, I have every authority.”

“Covenant?” Marcello’s face contorted. “There is no paper trail! The ceremony never happened!”

“The ceremony is a formality. The document was signed twenty minutes ago.” Zyle circled the desk slowly, his movements predatory. “With proper witnesses. The alliance is official, Marcello. Your little coup has failed before it began.”

“Impossible!” Spittle flew from Marcello’s lips. “Laykin is dead! I made sure of it this time! My men couldn’t possibly have failed again!”

“They failed,” Zyle confirmed, continuing his slow advance. “Though not for lack of trying. They left quite a mark on her. A debt I intend to repay personally.”

Understanding dawned in Marcello’s eyes. Fear replaced rage as he backed toward the door. “You can’t touch me. I’m a royal councilor, the king’s brother?—”

“You’re a traitor who tried to murder your own niece.” Zyle’s voice dropped to a growl as silver bled into his eyes. “You’re a coward who sent others to do your killing while you played the concerned uncle.”

Marcello’s hand found the door handle. “Stay back! Guards! Guards!”

No one came. The halls remained silent, all attention focused on the assembly hall and the search for the missing princess.

“Why?” Zyle asked, genuinely curious despite his rage. “Why betray your family? Your pride?”

Marcello’s lip curled. “My family has always overlooked me! My pride follows a weak king who would mix our royal bloodlines with—with your kind!” He spat the words. “I should have been king! I should have led the pride to glory, not watched it become diluted through political marriages!”

“So you chose to murder your way to power instead.” Zyle’s voice remained conversational even as his body began to change, bones shifting beneath his skin.

Marcello’s eyes widened in terror. “The contract would have ruined everything! With Laykin dead and her parents next, the throne would pass to me! The succession laws are clear!”

“The covenant specifies mutual governance in case of succession disruption,” Zyle corrected him, his words distorting as his mouth elongated. “Your plan was doomed from the start.”

On the security monitors, Laykin watched as Zyle’s transformation accelerated—clothes tearing as his massive tiger form emerged with explosive force. Marcello screamed, yanking the door open and fleeing into the corridor. Zyle’s tiger charged after him, powerful shoulders demolishing a portion of the doorway in his haste.

“We need to move,” Laykin told Seren, pushing herself to her feet. “He’ll tear the palace apart in this state.”

They rushed through the corridors, following the sounds of destruction. Crashes and roars echoed through the ancient halls as they approached the grand reception room—a cavernous space lined with priceless artifacts and portraits of Summit Pride royalty.

They arrived to find chaos—furniture shattered, tapestries torn from walls, and in the center, a massive white tiger circling a golden lion. Marcello had shifted, choosing to fight rather than continue a futile escape.

Blood matted the lion’s mane where Zyle’s claws had already found their mark. The tiger showed injuries too—a deep gash along his flank that would have disabled a lesser animal. Neither showed any sign of backing down.

Marcello lunged first, desperation making him reckless. Zyle met the attack head-on, massive paws batting the lion aside with contemptuous ease. The tiger’s superior weight and power showed as he drove Marcello back, step by relentless step.

Tables splintered beneath them as they crashed through the room’s center. A display case containing ceremonial weapons shattered, scattering ancient daggers across the marble floor. Priceless porcelain vases became casualties as Zyle pursued his prey with single-minded focus.

The fight held a terrible beauty—two apex predators locked in mortal combat, moving with deadly grace despite their size. Laykin found herself unable to look away even as her heart seized each time Marcello’s claws found purchase in Zyle’s white fur.

Ultimately, the outcome was inevitable. Marcello fought with the desperation of a cornered animal, but Zyle fought with the cold precision of an executioner and a mate. The tiger’s jaws closed around the lion’s throat, powerful enough to crush the life from him in an instant.

Marcello’s struggles weakened, then ceased altogether. Zyle released him, the lion’s body crumpling to the floor in a heap of golden fur. The tiger stood over his fallen enemy, sides heaving with exertion, silver eyes still burning with battle rage.

“Zyle,” Laykin called softly, stepping into the devastated room.

The tiger’s head snapped toward her, recognition tempering the wildness in his gaze. His massive form blurred, shifting back to human with fluid grace that belied the serious injuries evident as the transformation completed.

Zyle stood naked and bloodied among the wreckage, chest heaving, eyes finding Laykin’s across the destruction. Without a word, he crossed to her, hands framing her face with impossible gentleness given what he’d just done.

“You’re safe,” he whispered as if reassuring himself.

“I’m safe,” she confirmed, leaning into his touch despite the blood on his hands—her uncle’s blood, now cooling on the marble floor behind them.

His gaze dropped to her injured shoulder, rage rekindling. “Medical wing. Now.”

This time, Laykin didn’t argue as he swept her into his arms, carrying her through the stunned palace staff who had begun to gather at the commotion. Their whispers followed—speculation about the princess’s return, about the dead councilor, about the tiger who had defended lion territory as his own.

“You need treatment too,” Laykin murmured against his neck, noting the deep gashes across his torso that continued to bleed.

“Later.” His arms tightened around her, mindful of her injuries despite his urgency.

“Stubborn tiger,” she chided softly, her hand resting over his heart.

Zyle’s answer rumbled through his chest, a sound halfway between growl and purr. “Your stubborn tiger, Princess. As it seems, I’ve always been.”

The medical wing doors swung open before them, healers rushing forward at the sight of the bloodied pair. Laykin closed her eyes, allowing herself a moment of weakness now that the danger had passed. The paper was signed. Her uncle’s betrayal ended. Her parents safe.

And Zyle—her arranged mate, her destined partner, her fierce protector—held her as if she were the most precious thing in his world.