Shahkhur had outright refused to leave the house. Despite Arman's protests, there was little anyone could do. Shahkhur was not only tall but incredibly strong—unnaturally so. Years spent in an animal form hadn't weakened him as one might expect. If anything, his physical strength appeared amplified.
Overpowering him wasn't an option.
The real conflict, however, began when Shahkhur insisted on sleeping in the same room as Leila. Naturally, she refused, though her objections didn't seem to deter him. He stood firm, stubborn as ever, claiming the mate bond compelled him to remain close to her.
"I can't allow that," Arman said firmly, his voice carrying a sharp edge. His glare bore into Shahkhur, but it had little effect on the man. Leila had repeatedly warned her brother about how dangerous Shahkhur could be—how unpredictable—but Arman brushed off her concerns as exaggeration. In his mind, they were little more than lies meant to justify the strange man's presence.
"My sister is unmarried, and I won't let you disrespect her by staying in her room," Arman argued, his voice rising. His protective instincts, though admirable, only seemed to escalate the situation.
Leila, meanwhile, rolled her eyes in frustration. She didn't have the energy to mediate their petty battle of wills. Exhaustion weighed heavily on her; she could barely keep her eyes open as she watched the two men square off. Shahkhur noticed her weariness immediately, his piercing gaze softening just a fraction before he turned back to Arman.
"I'm sleeping with her, and that's final," Shahkhur declared, his tone resolute, as though the matter had already been decided. "You don't get to tell me what I can or can't do with my mate."
Arman bristled, his jaw tightening as his narrowed eyes swept over Shahkhur's disheveled state. "My sister is not your mate," he snapped. "She's not an animal—and frankly, I can't say the same about you. Look at yourself." He gestured scornfully to Shahkhur's ragged clothes, his disgust evident. "You can't even put on proper clothing. How shameless can you be, standing there like that in front of a lady?"
At this, a small, infuriating smirk tugged at Shahkhur's lips. His response was low and deliberate, delivered with infuriating confidence.
"There's nothing down there your sister hasn't seen before," he muttered, his voice dripping with pride.
Arman's eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets at Shahkhur's brazen statement. For a moment, he opened his mouth as if to argue, but he snapped it shut just as quickly. There was no way this lunatic was being serious—he couldn't be. Shaking his head in disbelief, Arman chose to ignore the provocation.
"I'll find you something proper to wear," he hissed through clenched teeth, his voice laced with frustration. "And for the last time, you're not sleeping in her room. I don't trust you alone with her—not one bit." Arman shot him a final glare before storming off toward his room, muttering under his breath.
Left alone in the quiet, Shahkhur turned his attention to Leila. Oddly, she hadn't said a word during their heated exchange. Her silence felt unnatural, and for a moment, he wondered if she had been listening at all. It took him a second to realize why—she had fallen asleep sitting position.
Shahkhur frowned, his sharp gaze narrowing as he took in her slumped posture. Was she so tired that she could sleep through all that noise? Muttering something unintelligible under his breath, he walked toward her. With an impatient nudge, he kicked the leg of her chair.
The result was immediate—but not what he intended.
Leila's body tumbled forward, the sudden shift causing her to slip from the seat. Shahkhur reacted on instinct. Before she could hit the floor, he caught her, his hands moving swiftly to lift her into his arms. Cradling her small frame against his chest, he glanced down at her sleeping face.
Just how exhausted was she to sleep like the dead?
"Sister Minoo owes me money from last time," Leila muttered softly in her sleep, her voice faint and childlike.
Shahkhur stiffened. It wasn't the words that startled him—it was the tears. Tiny streams of sorrow leaked down her cheeks, glistening under the dim light. She was crying. In her sleep.
His brows furrowed in confusion as he stared at her tear-streaked face. "Such a strange woman," he muttered, though his voice lacked the bite it usually carried.
Adjusting his hold, Shahkhur carried her effortlessly across the room. When he reached the bed, his expression darkened slightly. He could smell him—Arman. His scent lingered faintly on the blanket and pillows, it seemed that she sometimes shared the bed with her brother. Irritation prickled at Shahkhur, a low growl rumbling in his throat. He didn't care if Arman was her brother; he still didn't like it.
As he settled her down gently onto the bed, Leila stirred again, her lips parting as another name escaped her.
"Sister Nasrin…" she whispered, her voice trembling. The tears didn't stop.
Shahkhur froze, his gaze fixed on her face. For reasons he couldn't quite explain, something inside him stirred at the sight of her silent grief. Sadness. That's what he felt—a powerful wave of it washing over him like an unwelcome tide. Her emotions were so raw that he could almost taste them, as though they bled into him through the mate bond.
What was she dreaming about? What memories haunted her so deeply that she would cry in her sleep?
For a brief moment, Shahkhur considered waking her. Perhaps he would demand answers—question her about these names. But as he watched her fragile form tremble ever so slightly, he hesitated.
With an irritated huff, he sat down on the edge of the bed, his sharp eyes never leaving her tear-streaked face.
"You're such a strange woman," he muttered again, softer this time.
And for a man who had spent almost half his lifetime as a beast, that strangeness made him uneasy.
Shahkhur's fingers moved almost unconsciously as he brushed a few strands of Leila's hair away from her cheeks. For a fleeting moment, he found himself admiring her delicate features—the gentle curve of her jaw, the way her dark lashes rested against her skin, and the faint traces of tears that lingered there.
Leila.
That was her name. A simple name, yet darkly beautiful, much like the woman herself. The door creaked open, shattering the fragile silence.
"I brought you some of my clothes," Arman announced, stepping into the room with a bundle of folded garments in his hands. "They might not fit well—you're… a bit bigger than I am—and…"
Arman's voice trailed off mid-sentence when his eyes landed on the scene before him. Shahkhur, perched at the edge of the bed, appeared entirely absorbed in his sister, his fingers lingering just slightly too long as he tucked her hair away.
Arman's suspicion gave way to a smirk, and he straightened his posture with a smug sort of pride. "I know you're smitten with my sister," he declared, walking toward the bed with the confidence of a man who had just uncovered someone's secret.
Shahkhur didn't so much as flinch at the accusation. He remained still, his expression unreadable, as though Arman's words barely registered.
Encouraged by the lack of protest, Arman continued. "You don't sound like a poor man," he said, glancing Shahkhur up and down. "And it doesn't matter if you've got a screw or two loose—if my sister likes you, I think I can tolerate you. Manage you, even."
Still, Shahkhur said nothing. He didn't even look at Arman; his attention remained focused on the woman sleeping before him, though his face remained impassive.
"My sister's a remarkable woman, you know," Arman pressed on, crossing his arms proudly. "She's strong, reliable, and bold—everything you could ever want in a wife. If you really care about her, you'll have to show her. Leila isn't someone you win over with empty words. She needs action—proof that she's valued. She needs affirmation, not just in words, but in the way you act toward her."
The tension in the room shifted instantly.
"We are not in a courtship," Shahkhur snapped, his voice sharper than the crack of a whip. His tone carried a finality that made Arman pause. "And there will be no marriage between us. Not now, not ever."
Despite his words, Shahkhur's hand moved with surprising tenderness as he reached out again, brushing another strand of hair away from Leila's face. His expression hardened as he withdrew his hand, but the conflict in his eyes was unmistakable.
"Your sister and I come from two very different worlds," he continued, his voice lower now but no less firm. "The only reason we are close—for the moment—is because of this insufferable mate bond. Nothing more."
Arman stared at him for a long moment, the smugness fading from his face as he tried to make sense of Shahkhur's sudden coldness. The man's words might have been harsh, but there was something strange in the way he looked at Leila—something conflicted, like a man at war with himself.
"What do you mean by that?" Arman asked, his brows knitting together in confusion and suspicion.
Shahkhur turned his head sharply, this time meeting Arman's gaze with unwavering seriousness. "She is the tiger's mate," he said, his voice calm yet unyielding. "The mate bond is indestructible unless the tiger dies. But when I break this curse—when I fully return to my human form—the mate bond will be nullified."
Arman's expression flickered with disbelief, though curiosity tugged at the edges of his doubt. "Wait—not that I believe you completely," he said, folding his arms. "But if you're planning to destroy this so-called bond, why did you make her your mate in the first place?"
Shahkhur's jaw tightened, but he didn't falter. "I did it so I could protect her," he replied simply. "No matter how far away she is, the bond ensures I can shield her from harm. Until she helps me break this curse, I swear—on my life—no harm shall come to your sister."
A beat of silence fell between them. Arman studied him carefully, his earlier bravado waning into something more thoughtful.
After a long pause, Shahkhur added quietly, "And I won't forget the insults."
Arman's lips curled into a half-sneer, his guard returning as quickly as it had fallen. "Tch. Fine. Just make sure you pay for the food you ate as well and the inconvenience, I am not a charity and my house is not an inn."
He turned to leave, only to pause at the door and glance back, pointing an accusing finger at the man beside his sleeping sister. "Listen carefully," he warned, his tone sharper than before. "I'll be sleeping in the tent outside tonight, and I'll pretend I didn't see you in her room. But don't think this gives you free rein. If you so much as lay a finger on my sister, tiger or not—I'll break that bond myself." His eyes darkened as he finished coldly, "Because you'll die by my hands."
Shahkhur's upper lip curled into something akin to a smirk, his expression both incredulous and amused. This boy. The challenge in Arman's words, though laughable to someone like him, stirred something faintly amused in his chest.
"I'd like to see you try," Shahkhur murmured under his breath, the corner of his mouth tugging upward in a mocking curve. "Killing someone as pathetic as you will be a stain upon my honor, but I will give you a good beating, one that you will remember for the rest of your life."
With a final glare, Arman turned and left the room, shutting the door behind him with a decisive thud.
Left alone again, Shahkhur's smirk faded as his eyes fell back on Leila's sleeping form. Despite himself, his gaze softened ever so slightly.
Protect her, he had said. And he meant it.
A tiger would rather die first, than to let something happen to it's mate.