Page 55 of Claws and Effect (Paranormal Dating Agency #87)

FIFTY-FOUR

L aykin stood before the full-length mirror in the medical suite, examining her reflection with critical eyes. Three days of intensive care had worked wonders—only faint pink lines remained where deep gashes had marred her shoulder and side. By tomorrow, even those would fade completely, leaving her skin unmarked as if the attack had never happened.

The doctors had finally cleared her to leave, much to her relief. Three days confined to a hospital bed—even one fit for royalty—had tested her patience more thoroughly than any diplomatic negotiation.

A soft knock on the doorframe drew her attention. Zyle leaned against it, arms crossed over his chest, watching her with that intense gaze that still sent shivers across her skin.

“Ready to escape?” he asked, the corner of his mouth quirking upward.

“Beyond ready.” Laykin turned from the mirror, crossing to where her packed bag sat on the bed. When she reached for it, Zyle was already there, slipping the strap over his shoulder before she could protest.

“I can carry my own bag,” she pointed out, though without much conviction.

“I know, but why should you when I’m here?”

Such a simple statement, yet it encapsulated the shift in their relationship over these chaotic weeks. When I’m here . As if his presence at her side was a given, a constant she could rely on without question.

“Your security detail is waiting at the south entrance,” Zyle informed her. “Holden coordinated with the pride guards to establish a clear route home.”

Home . The word resonated within her chest. Not the palace where she’d grown up, but Zyle’s mountain estate—their estate now. The space they would share as mates, officially and in truth.

“How are your injuries?” Laykin asked. His wounds had been more severe than hers—Marcello’s claws had cut deep during their battle.

“Healing,” he replied dismissively. “Nothing that requires concern.”

She raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. “Says the man who refused to leave my bedside for thirty-six hours straight.”

“That was different.”

“How so?”

His silver-ringed eyes met hers, suddenly serious. “Because it was you .”

The simple honesty in those words stole her breath more effectively than any elaborate declaration could have. Before she could respond, voices echoed down the corridor.

“I’m going to take your bags to the car. I’ll be back in a few,” he said and kissed her on the lips before leaving her alone.

“Laykin!”

Seren burst into the room a few minutes later, practically sprinting toward her.

Seconds later, Laykin’s parents arrived, more dignified in their approach but no less eager.

“Finally breaking free, huh?” Seren enveloped Laykin in a careful hug, mindful of her healing injuries. “The palace has been dreadfully boring without you stirring up trouble.”

“I hardly stirred up anything,” Laykin protested, returning the embrace. “Trouble found me.”

“And how!” Seren pulled back, her expression becoming more serious. “I’m glad you’re both all right. Things could have ended very differently.”

Queen Juliette stepped forward, her elegant features softening as she assessed her daughter. “The doctors assured us you’re fully recovered. Are you?”

“Almost.” Laykin gestured to the faint marks on her shoulder. “Another day or two and there won’t be any trace.”

Her father nodded, relief evident in his eyes. The past week had aged him visibly—discovering his brother’s betrayal had carved new lines into his face that hadn’t been there.

“Where’s the brooding tiger?” Seren asked, glancing around theatrically.

“Taking my bags to the car,” Laykin explained, noting how naturally the domestic detail rolled off her tongue. “He insists I shouldn’t carry anything heavier than a coffee cup for at least another day.”

“Smart man,” King Leoric approved. “Seren, would you mind giving us a moment with our daughter?”

Seren’s eyes widened with understanding. “Of course. I’ll help Zyle with... whatever he’s doing.” She squeezed Laykin’s hand before departing, her meaningful glance promising a full debrief later.

An expectant silence fell after Seren’s departure. Her parents exchanged one of those loaded glances.

“What is it?” Laykin asked, recognizing the signs of a prepared speech. “If this is about the contract enforcement or Marcello’s supporters, we can discuss it tomorrow after I’ve?—”

“It’s not about the covenant,” her mother interrupted gently. “It’s about you. And Zyle.”

Laykin frowned. “What about us?”

Her father gestured toward a small seating area near the window. “Perhaps we should sit.”

The formality of the suggestion sent a prickle of unease down Laykin’s spine, but she complied, settling onto the cushioned bench beside her mother while her father took the chair opposite.

“There’s something we need to tell you,” Queen Juliette began, taking Laykin’s hand in hers. “Something we perhaps should have shared with you earlier.”

“Caroline was never the intended bride for Zyle,” her father stated plainly, his direct approach catching Laykin off guard.

She blinked, processing the statement. “What?”

“The story about your sister fleeing her duty and you stepping in to save the family’s honor—it wasn’t entirely accurate,” her mother explained, her thumb tracing soothing circles over Laykin’s knuckles. “Caroline was never meant to make this match. It was always meant to be you.”

Laykin stared, confusion mounting. “But why the deception? Why not simply arrange the match between Zyle and me from the beginning?”

Her parents exchanged another of those silent communications before her father leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

“Because we knew you would never agree unless you believed it was necessary,” he said softly. “You’ve always placed duty above personal happiness. If we had approached you directly about marrying Zyle, you would have questioned our motives, analyzed every political angle, and likely refused on principle.”

“I don’t understand,” Laykin said, though a strange suspicion began forming in the back of her mind. “Why were you so certain I should be matched with Zyle specifically?”

Her mother smiled, a nostalgic warmth spreading across her features. “Because we’ve known you were meant for each other since the day you were born.”

“When you were just hours old,” her father continued, “the Rubins came to pay their respects. A formal visit, tradition between allied prides. Their son, Zyle—he would have been barely four at the time—came with them.”

“The moment he saw your cradle, something extraordinary happened,” her mother picked up the story, eyes bright with the memory. “He refused to leave your side. Growled— growled —at anyone who came too close to you, including your father.”

“He marked you as his, even then,” King Leoric added. “It’s incredible, but sometimes it happens—early mate recognition. The adults all recognized it immediately.”

Laykin’s mind raced to process this revelation. “You’re saying Zyle and I—we were fated mates? Since I was an infant?”

“Yes.” Her mother squeezed her hand. “We consulted the oldest records, spoke with the elder shifters. There was no doubt. But such things are deeply private, profoundly significant. We agreed with the Rubins to keep it between our families, to allow you both to grow up without that burden of expectation.”

“As the years passed,” her father continued, “we thought perhaps nothing would come of it. You both grew into your roles, led separate lives. After Zyle’s father died, his mother Frances approached us about the treaty for the engagement and the covenant of joining prides—a natural alliance. It seemed the perfect opportunity.”

“So you invented the story about Caroline,” Laykin said slowly, pieces falling into place. “You sent her away on a trip while you manipulated me into accepting the match.”

“‘Manipulated’ sounds so harsh,” her mother murmured. “We preferred to think of it as... creating an opportunity for destiny to unfold naturally. Our good friend Gerri Wilder helped us create this chance for you to connect with Zyle.”

“We knew if given the choice outright, you would never agree,” her father added. “Your sense of duty to the pride, your reluctance to entertain personal happiness at the expense of political advantage?—”

“So you tricked me.” The words came out sharper than Laykin intended.

“We ensured your happiness,” her mother corrected gently. “We created circumstances where you could discover your mate bond without prejudice or expectation.”

Anger flared briefly in Laykin’s chest at being managed so thoroughly, at having her choices manipulated by the people she trusted most. Yet even as the emotion rose, it dissolved against the reality of what had developed between her and Zyle.

The immediate, inexplicable connection when they first met in the forest. The way her lioness had responded to him with a primal recognition that transcended logic. How quickly they had adapted to each other, how natural it felt to move in his orbit.

“Would you have agreed to the match if we had told you the truth?” her father asked quietly.