Tiger's Christmas Bride

Chapter 4.

Chapter 4: The Hunt Closes In

The scratching at the back door is like nails on a chalkboard, slow and deliberate, each scrape tightening the knot in my stomach. Dean’s hand grips mine, his skin hot despite the blood he’s lost, and his eyes—those impossible golden eyes—are locked on the door, glowing faintly in the dim firelight. The cabin, which felt like a fortress an hour ago, now feels like a cage. My pulse is a drumbeat in my ears, and the fireplace poker in my other hand feels flimsy against whatever’s out there. Another Wendigo, Dean said. Great. One wasn’t enough.

“Stay behind me,” Dean whispers, his voice low and rough, like he’s barely holding the tiger back. His claws are out again, glinting in the shadows, and I can’t decide if I’m more scared of the thing outside or the fact that I’m clinging to a guy who turns into a tiger.

“No way,” I hiss, my voice shaky but firm. “I’m not hiding again. We do this together.”

He glances at me, and for a split second, there’s something like pride in his eyes, mixed with worry. “You’re stubborn as hell, Violet.”

“Yeah, and it’s keeping me alive.” I tighten my grip on the poker, my knuckles white. “What’s the plan? You go all tiger again and hope for the best?”

He smirks, but it’s tight, pained. “Something like that. Stay close. If it gets in, aim for the eyes or throat.”

“Got it. Stab the monster in the face. Real romantic first date.” I’m trying to keep it light, but my heart’s pounding so hard I’m dizzy.

His eyes soften, just for a moment. “First date, huh? I’ll make the next one better.”

I snort, despite the fear clawing my chest. “If we survive, you owe me dinner. Somewhere with no monsters.”

“Deal,” he says, and his voice is warm, like he means it. Then the scratching stops, and the silence is worse. It’s heavy, like the forest is holding its breath. Dean tenses, his body coiled, and I feel it too—a presence, cold and wrong, seeping through the walls.

“Where is it?” I whisper, my breath fogging in the chilly air. The fire’s dying, and the cabin’s getting colder, like something’s sucking the warmth out.

Dean’s nose twitches, like he’s sniffing the air. “It’s circling. Testing us.” He pulls me toward the kitchen, away from the back door, his movements silent despite his injuries. “We need to secure the windows.”

I nod, following him, my eyes darting to every shadow. The cabin’s too big, too many corners, and every creak of the floorboards makes me jump. We reach the kitchen window, and Dean checks the lock, his claws retracting as he moves. I’m about to ask how he controls the change when a low growl rumbles outside, so close it vibrates through the glass.

“Dean—” I start, but he clamps a hand over my mouth, pulling me down behind the counter. His body’s pressed against mine, solid and warm, and I hate how my skin tingles even now. Focus, Violet. Monster outside, hot tiger guy inside. Priorities.

He leans close, his breath tickling my ear. “It’s right outside. Don’t move.”

I nod, my heart in my throat, and he releases me, peering over the counter. The growl comes again, louder, and I see it—a shadow moving past the window, too big, too wrong, with those same red eyes that haunt my nightmares. My hands shake, but I grip the poker tighter, ready to swing if it crashes through.

Dean’s eyes glow brighter, and I swear I see his teeth sharpen, just for a second. “It’s trying to draw us out,” he murmurs. “It knows I’m hurt.”

“Then why isn’t it attacking?” I whisper, my voice barely audible.

He hesitates, like he’s weighing how much to tell me. “It’s not just hunting. It’s… playing. Wendigos feed on fear as much as blood.”

My stomach twists. “Great. So it’s toying with us?”

“Pretty much.” He glances at me, his expression grim. “But I’m not letting it touch you.”

His words hit me hard, stirring something I don’t want to name. Mate, he called me. Fated mate. It’s insane, but the way he’s looking at me, like I’m the only thing that matters, makes me want to believe it. I shake it off, focusing on the threat. “How do we kill it?”

He grabs a knife from the block, bigger than the one I threw, and hands it to me. “Same as before. Heart or head. But we need to draw it away from the cabin. If it gets in, we’re trapped.”

I take the knife, its weight grounding me. “You’re hurt, Dean. You can’t fight another one like this.”

“I don’t have a choice,” he says, his voice hard. “You’re my—”

“Don’t say mate again,” I cut him off, my cheeks burning. “I’m not ready for that talk.”

He chuckles, soft and low, but it’s cut off by a crash—glass shattering in the living room. We both freeze, and Dean’s up in a flash, pulling me with him. The fire’s out now, the room dark except for the moonlight spilling through the broken window. Snow swirls in, and there it is—the Wendigo, crouched on the floor, its skeletal frame wrapped in matted fur, red eyes glowing like hellfire. It’s bigger than the last one, its claws longer, and it’s staring right at me.

“Violet, run!” Dean shouts, shoving me toward the hallway. He shifts mid-step, his body exploding into tiger form, a roar shaking the cabin. The Wendigo lunges, and they collide, claws and fangs tearing into each other. I stumble back, knife in one hand, poker in the other, my mind screaming to help but my body frozen.

The fight’s a blur—Dean’s tiger form is massive, all muscle and stripes, but the Wendigo’s fast, dodging his swipes and raking his flank. Blood splatters the floor, and I snap out of it, my fear turning to rage. I’m not letting him die for me. I charge, screaming, and swing the poker at the Wendigo’s back. It hits, barely, but the creature turns, its eyes locking on me, and I freeze, my breath stolen by the raw hunger in its gaze.

Dean roars, tackling it again, but the Wendigo’s claws catch his shoulder, and he falters, blood pooling under him. I’m moving before I think, stabbing the knife into the creature’s side. It screeches, swiping at me, and I duck, the claw grazing my arm. Pain sears through me, but I’m still standing, still fighting.

“Violet, get out!” Dean’s voice is human again, raw and desperate, as he shifts back, grabbing the creature’s throat. He’s bleeding badly, his face pale, but he’s not giving up.

“I’m not leaving you!” I yell, swinging the poker again. It connects with the Wendigo’s skull, and it staggers, giving Dean a chance to drive his knife into its chest. The creature shrieks, a sound that makes my ears bleed, and collapses, its body dissolving into a cloud of ash and smoke.

Dean drops to his knees, gasping, and I rush to him, my hands shaking as I check his wounds. “You’re an i***t,” I say, tears burning my eyes. “You could’ve died.”

“So could you,” he rasps, his hand finding mine. His touch is warm, grounding, and I’m too shaken to pull away. “You’re tougher than you look.”

“Yeah, well, you’re dumber than you look,” I shoot back, my voice cracking. I grab the first aid kit, my hands clumsy as I bandage his shoulder. He’s a mess, blood and bruises everywhere, but he’s alive, and so am I.

We sit there, catching our breath, the cabin quiet except for the wind whistling through the broken window. My arm stings where the Wendigo grazed me, and I notice a faint glow under my sleeve—a mark, like a tattoo, shimmering faintly. It’s a tiger, entwined with a crescent moon, just like the one on Dean’s shoulder.

“What the hell is this?” I ask, pulling up my sleeve. The mark pulses, warm under my skin, and Dean’s eyes widen.

“That’s… the mate bond,” he says, his voice hoarse. “It’s marking you. Connecting us.”

I stare at him, my heart racing. “Connecting us? Dean, I didn’t sign up for this!”

“I know,” he says, his eyes searching mine. “I’ll explain everything, I swear. But we’re not safe yet. There’s a traitor in my Pride, someone summoning these things. And they know about you.”

Before I can process that, a new sound cuts through the night—a low, rhythmic chant, like voices in the distance, carried on the wind. Dean’s head snaps up, his eyes narrowing, and I feel it too—a chill, deeper than the storm, wrapping around the cabin. The mark on my arm burns, and Dean’s hand tightens on mine.

“They’re coming,” he whispers, his voice laced with dread. “And they’re not alone.”