Page 9 of Claws and Effect (Paranormal Dating Agency #87)
EIGHT
Z yle turned away, his fingers itching to pour another drink. He resisted, moving instead to the window. The vast grounds of Summit Castle spread below, manicured lawns giving way to wilder terrain at the property’s edge. The border of dense forest where he’d shifted for his run. Where he’d caught the sounds of combat and scented a lioness in distress.
“She handled herself remarkably well.” The quiet admission surprised even him. “Combat-trained. Took down two attackers before they darted her.”
Holden’s silence prompted Zyle to continue, words tumbling out against his better judgment.
“You should have seen her—she broke a heel and didn’t miss a beat. Just kicked off both shoes and kept fighting. In a pencil skirt.” The memory played again in his mind, slowed down to capture each detail: her fluid movements, the flash of determination in her eyes, the subtle flex of muscle beneath business attire as she countered an attacker twice her size. “Who does that?”
“Someone who values their life over their footwear.” Holden stood, crossing to stand beside Zyle at the window. “I’ve never heard you talk about anyone like this.”
“Like what?” Zyle’s voice sharpened, defensive edges rising.
“Like you’ve discovered fire for the first time.”
Zyle’s jaw clenched. How could he explain the inexplicable? The moment their eyes met—hers hazel with green and gold flecks, his deep brown shifting to silver as his tiger surged forward in recognition. The instant, bone-deep certainty that had rocked through him.
Mine.
The thought had erupted from somewhere primal, beyond reason or logic. His tiger had roared it with such force that Zyle had nearly lost control of his shift entirely.
“She’d been darted,” he said instead, deflecting. “Tranquilizer was taking effect. I ensured the attackers posed no further threat, checked that she would survive until backup arrived, and left before I could be identified.”
“How chivalrous.” Holden’s skepticism filled each syllable. “The Zyle Rubin I know would have questioned her about the attack. Gathered intelligence about a potential threat near our delegation’s residence.”
The observation struck too close to the truth. Zyle prided himself on strategic thinking, on never missing an opportunity to collect valuable information. Why had he fled instead of investigating? Why had his only instinct been to ensure her safety, then retreat?
He had no rational answer, only the overwhelming flood of emotion that had accompanied that single thought: Mine.
“I need to shower,” Zyle muttered, turning from the window.
“You still have some time,” Holden called after him. “Try not to rescue any more damsels in the interim.”
“She wasn’t a damsel,” Zyle corrected without turning back. “She was a warrior .”
The bathroom door closed behind him, sealing him in marble-and-chrome solitude. Zyle braced both hands on the counter, head bowed as he fought for composure. His reflection in the mirror revealed what he’d tried to hide from Holden—brown eyes rimmed with silver, his tiger still too close to the surface.
His fingers dipped into the pocket of his joggers, retrieving the small object he’d impulsively taken during the chaos. The broken emerald earring lay in his palm—delicate gold filigree surrounding a small gem that matched the exact shade of her eyes when they’d flashed with determination. He’d spotted it on the asphalt as she collapsed from the tranquilizer and snatched it without conscious thought.
The earring carried her scent. Zyle brought it to his nose, inhaling deeply. Sun-warmed honey and wild savannah grass with subtle notes of expensive perfume and the sharper edge of adrenaline. Now these mingled with his own pine-and-snow tiger musk from being carried in his pocket. The combination created something intoxicating that made his tiger pace restlessly beneath his skin.
Zyle placed the earring on the counter with reverent care, then stripped off his joggers and stepped into the shower. Hot water cascaded over tense muscles, steam rising around him as he pressed his forehead against cool tile.
What madness had possessed him? His life operated on precision and control. Every action calculated, every decision weighed for maximum strategic advantage. He’d agreed to an arranged mating with the Summit princess because the alliance made sense. Because joining their prides would create an unprecedented power bloc in shifter politics. Because the financial benefits to both families were substantial.
Never had instinct overruled reason in his decision-making.
Until today.
Until her.
The memory of her fighting replayed in his mind—not as a sequence of combat moves but as an expression of spirit. Determination in every line of her body, refusing to surrender despite overwhelming odds. The grace of her movements, powerful yet controlled. The flash of defiance in her eyes even as the tranquilizer began to take effect.
And beneath it all, the inexplicable pull he’d felt toward her. Not merely attraction—Zyle had experienced that before, acknowledged it, controlled it when necessary. This was something deeper, more primal. A recognition that bypassed rational thought and struck directly at the core of his being.
His tiger had recognized her as his mate.
The realization should have alarmed him. Instead, a curious calm settled over Zyle as the hot water sluiced away the physical evidence of the afternoon’s chaos. If his tiger had recognized her, who was she? A random lioness caught in unfortunate circumstances, or someone connected to the Summit Pride?
Someone, perhaps, connected to tonight’s event?
The thought sent a jolt through his system. Could it be possible? Could the lioness he’d rescued be the very princess he was arranged to meet tonight?
Zyle shut off the water, reaching for a plush towel. Coincidence of that magnitude didn’t exist. Or did it? His entire life operated on calculated probability, but shifter lore whispered of fate and predestined matches. Of mates drawn together across impossible odds.
He’d dismissed such stories as romantic nonsense.
Now he wasn’t so sure.