Page 7 of Claws and Effect (Paranormal Dating Agency #87)

SIX

“ P rincess? Can you hear me?”

Laykin blinked against harsh light, gradually recognizing the royal physician’s concerned face hovering above her. She lay in her own bed at Summit Castle, surrounded by anxious staff.

“I’m fine,” she said automatically, pushing herself upright despite the lingering grogginess. “How long was I unconscious?”

“Approximately forty minutes,” Dr. Reeves replied, checking her pupils with a penlight. “The tranquilizer was a standard shifter-grade sedative. No lasting effects expected, though you may experience fatigue for several hours.”

Laykin nodded, memories of the attack crystallizing. “My security team?”

“Recovering in the medical wing,” her father’s chief of security answered from the doorway. “Minor injuries only. Your emergency beacon worked perfectly—allowed us to locate you quickly.”

“The attackers?”

“Gone when we arrived,” he admitted grimly. “Though we found three unconscious ones zip-tied at the scene. They’re being questioned now.”

Seren pushed through the cluster of staff, her face pale with worry. “Out! Everyone out!” she ordered with surprising authority. “The princess needs to prepare for tonight. Dr. Reeves can stay, the rest of you—shoo!”

The room cleared with remarkable speed, leaving only Seren, the doctor, and the security chief.

“The gala—” Laykin began.

“Is still four hours away,” Seren cut in. “Plenty of time to recover and prepare if Dr. Reeves clears you.”

The physician hesitated. “Medically, you’re stable, Your Highness. But after such an ordeal?—”

“I’ll attend,” Laykin said firmly. “My absence would signal weakness at precisely the wrong moment.”

The security chief nodded approvingly. “We’ll triple your detail for the evening. The castle and venue have already been swept and secured.”

After extracting promises to rest for at least an hour, the doctor and security chief departed, leaving Laykin alone with Seren.

“Spill,” Seren demanded, perching on the edge of the bed. “What really happened? The security team said you were unconscious when they arrived.”

Laykin hesitated, uncertain how much to share. The white tiger, the man with silver eyes—it felt intensely personal, almost sacred.

“I fought,” she said simply. “My training worked.”

“And the white tiger?” Seren pressed. “One of the guards regained consciousness long enough to mention a massive white tiger tearing through the attackers.”

Laykin’s pulse quickened. “There... was a tiger,” she conceded. “It helped me.”

“A random tiger just happened to be passing by during a coordinated attack on the Summit Princess?” Seren’s skepticism couldn’t have been clearer.

“Apparently.”

“And then what? It just disappeared into the forest like some mythical guardian spirit?”

“Something like that.” Laykin swung her legs over the side of the bed, testing her balance. The tranquilizer’s effects had diminished to a mild wooziness. “I need a bath. And privacy.”

Seren recognized the dismissal but stood her ground. “Fine, keep your secrets. But while you soak, I’m laying out the emerald gown and arranging for your hair and makeup team to arrive early.”

After Seren finally left, Laykin pulled the ring from her skirt pocket and then sank into her bathroom’s massive marble tub, hot water and aromatherapy oils soothing her bruised body.

The bear clan symbol on the ring gleamed in the soft bathroom light. Why would bears target her? The Northern Clan had opposed feline shifter alliances for generations, believing such unions upset natural hierarchies. But they’d supposedly died out after the Great Shifter War two centuries ago.

Her phone chimed from the bedroom. Laykin ignored it until a second chime followed, then a third. With a sigh, she reached for a towel.

Five messages awaited her:

From her mother: Security briefed us. Rest, then prepare. We’ve increased protection at the gala.

From her father: Proud of how you handled yourself. We’ll discuss intelligence on the attackers tomorrow.

From Seren: Your makeup team arrives in 40 minutes. Drink water!

From an unknown number: The engagement necklace has been delivered to your quarters. A token of our eagerness for tonight’s celebration.

And finally, from Frances Rubin: Looking forward to our families’ union tonight.

Laykin stared at Frances Rubin’s message, a chill running through her despite the lingering warmth of her bath. The timing seemed too precisely aligned with the attack. Could the Rubins somehow know what had happened? Were they involved?

A knock at her door announced the arrival of her styling team. Laykin tucked the ring into her jewelry box, pushing her suspicions aside to focus on preparation. Tonight demanded perfection regardless of the afternoon’s chaos.

As nimble hands arranged her hair into an elegant updo and applied makeup that concealed any hint of her ordeal, Laykin’s thoughts returned repeatedly to silver eyes and white fur. The connection she’d felt transcended simple gratitude for rescue. Something primal had passed between them—something her lioness recognized even if her human mind couldn’t yet define it.

A velvet box awaited her on the dressing table—the Rubin engagement necklace mentioned in the text. Inside lay an exquisite creation of white gold and emeralds that would complement both tonight’s gown and the bracelet she’d received earlier.

Laykin lifted it with conflicted emotions. Hours ago, she’d been fighting for her life. Now she prepared to smile and charm at her own engagement gala, the identity of her attackers still unknown, the mystery of her silver-eyed savior unresolved.

She fastened the necklace, its weight another tangible reminder of duty. The emerald gown followed—her mother’s choice, tailored perfectly to her form, the color bringing out the green flecks in her hazel eyes.

“The bracelet, Your Highness?” her dresser asked, presenting the Rubin family gift on a velvet cushion.

Laykin slipped it over her wrist, the cool metal a final seal on her commitment to the evening’s charade of normalcy. Whatever questions plagued her would wait. Tonight belonged to diplomacy and appearances.

Three hours after being drugged and attacked, Princess Laykin Barclay stepped into her waiting car—a heavily armored limousine this time with four security vehicles in escort. Her expression betrayed nothing of her inner turmoil as they pulled away from Summit Castle toward the gala venue.

Tonight, she would meet Zyle Rubin. Tonight, she would play her role flawlessly. But beneath her serene exterior, two questions burned:

Who wanted to stop this alliance badly enough to risk attacking her in broad daylight?

And why did her lioness roar with recognition at the sight of a white tiger with silver eyes?