Tiger's Christmas Bride

Chapter 3.

Chapter 3: The Beast Within

The door’s buckling, wood splintering under the weight of whatever’s trying to claw its way in. My back’s pressed against the wall, the fireplace poker shaking in my hands, and Dean—God, Dean—is changing. His eyes burn like twin suns, gold and wild, and his hands, those strong hands that carried me from the wreck, are sprouting claws, sharp and curved like daggers. His growl vibrates in my chest, not human, not even close. I want to scream, but my throat’s locked tight, my heart hammering so loud I’m sure the thing outside can hear it.

“Dean, what the hell?” I choke out, the poker raised, though I’m not sure who I’m aiming it at—him or the monster at the door.

“Stay back, Violet!” he snarls, his voice a guttural mix of man and beast. His shoulders hunch, muscles rippling under his torn sweater like something’s fighting to break free. The door shakes again, claws screeching against wood, and those red eyes flash through the splintered gap, locked on me.

I’m trapped between two nightmares, and I don’t know which one’s worse. “You’re not human!” I yell, my voice cracking. “What are you?”

He glances back, and for a second, his eyes soften, almost pleading. “I’m trying to keep you alive,” he growls, but it’s strained, like he’s fighting himself as much as the thing outside. “Lock yourself in the bathroom. Now.”

“No way!” I snap, my fear morphing into something hot and stubborn. “I’m not hiding while you—whatever you are—fight that thing alone!”

The door cracks louder, a chunk of wood flying inward. Dean roars, a sound that shakes the cabin, and lunges at the door, slamming his body against it. The impact’s so hard I stumble, the poker clattering to the floor. I grab the knife from the counter, my hands slick with sweat. “Dean, tell me what’s going on!”

He doesn’t answer, just braces the door, his claws digging into the wood. The thing outside howls, a sound that claws at my sanity, and I catch a glimpse of it—matted fur, too-long limbs, and those glowing red eyes, hungry and wrong. It’s not a wolf. It’s something out of a nightmare, something that shouldn’t exist.

“Violet, move!” Dean shouts, and I realize I’m frozen, staring at the thing like an i***t. I scramble toward the bathroom, but the door explodes inward, shards flying. Dean tackles the creature, a blur of fur and muscle, and they crash onto the porch, snarling and clawing. I’m screaming now, knife raised, but I can’t tell who’s who in the chaos—Dean’s not human anymore, his body shifting into something massive, striped, and deadly.

A tiger. He’s a freaking tiger.

My brain short-circuits as Dean, now a massive beast with black-and-orange fur, rips into the creature. Claws flash, blood sprays, and the thing—a twisted wolf-thing with too many teeth—snarls, its red eyes blazing. They roll into the snow, tearing at each other, and I’m rooted to the spot, the knife useless in my hand. I should run, hide, do something, but I can’t look away. Dean’s tiger form is terrifying, beautiful, and I’m losing my mind because I’m attracted to it, to him, even now.

The wolf-thing snaps at Dean’s flank, drawing blood, and he roars, pinning it down. For a second, I think he’s got it, but the creature twists, impossibly fast, and slashes his side. Dean staggers, and my heart lurches. He’s hurt, bad, and I’m not letting him die for me.

“Hey, ugly!” I yell, my voice shaking but loud. The creature’s head snaps toward me, and I hurl the knife, aiming for its eye. It hits its shoulder instead, sinking deep, and the thing screeches, a sound that makes my ears ring. Dean seizes the moment, his jaws clamping onto its throat, and with a sickening crunch, the creature goes limp, collapsing into the snow.

Dean shifts back, human again, naked except for the shredded remains of his jeans, blood streaming from gashes on his chest and side. He’s panting, his eyes still glowing, and he stumbles toward me, collapsing against the porch railing. “Violet,” he rasps, “you okay?”

“Am I okay?” I laugh, hysterical, dropping to my knees beside him. “You’re a tiger! You just fought a—a whatever that was! And you’re asking if I’m okay?”

He chuckles, weak, wincing as he presses a hand to his side. “You threw a knife. Not bad.”

“Not bad?” I grab his arm, pulling him inside. “You’re bleeding out, you i***t. Sit down.”

He stumbles in, leaning on me, and I’m hyper-aware of his bare skin, his heat, even as my brain screams that he’s not human. I drag him to the couch, grabbing the first aid kit again. My hands shake as I clean his wounds, deeper than the one on his arm, and he watches me, his eyes softer now, human but still intense.

“You’re not running,” he says, voice low. “Most people would.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not most people.” I focus on the gauze, avoiding his gaze. “And I’m not leaving you to bleed out after you saved my ass. But you owe me answers, Dean. Like, tiger answers.”

He sighs, leaning back, his chest rising and falling. “I’m a shifter. Tiger. Leader of my… people. That thing was a Wendigo, a cursed shifter. It’s after you because of me.”

My hands freeze. “Because of you? What did I do?”

He looks away, jaw tight. “It’s complicated. You’re… important to me. More than you know.”

I stare, my heart doing weird flips. “Important how? We just met, Dean.”

His eyes meet mine, and there’s something raw, almost desperate. “You’re my mate, Violet. My fated mate. That thing wants you dead because of it.”

I laugh, sharp and disbelieving. “Mate? Like, what, your soulmate? You’re kidding, right?”

He doesn’t smile. “I wish I was.”

I shake my head, taping the gauze, my mind spinning. “This is insane. I’m a nobody from Maccon City. I don’t do soulmates or monsters or—”

A sharp crack outside cuts me off. We both freeze, and Dean’s eyes flash gold again. The fire’s low, casting long shadows, and I hear it—scratching, slow and deliberate, at the back door. My stomach drops. Dean grabs my hand, his grip tight, and pulls me close.

“It’s not over,” he whispers, his voice a growl. “There’s more than one.”