Mated to Her Alpha Instructor Chapter 104

Regis

When I spoke, my voice carried to every corner of the quad—clear, unmistakable, final:

"Let me make this very clear." I let my eyes shift fully gold, let them see exactly what stood before them. "Eileen Wylde is my mate. My bonded partner. The child she carries is *mine.*"

The silence that followed was absolute.

Shock rippled through the crowd like a shockwave. Jaws dropped. Eyes went wide. Someone made a strangled, disbelieving sound.

Only Mira didn't look surprised—she was grinning through tears, one hand pressed to her mouth.

"And if any of you," I continued, each word deliberate as a blade, "ever speak her name with disrespect again—if you touch her, threaten her, or cause her even a moment of distress—you will learn exactly why my family has held the Alpha seat for three hundred years."

That woman made a choked sound but said nothing.

My gaze found Derek. He'd gone from gray to green, and I could smell his fear—sharp, acrid, laced with guilt.

"You," I said quietly. "Derek Ashford."

He flinched.

"You were the one who kept harassing my mate, and the instigator behind this absurd slander." I took a step closer, letting the weight of my aura crush the air between us. "Open your mouth, Derek—before I rip the truth out of you."

"I—I didn't—it wasn't—" He was babbling now. "I just needed to—she was there and I thought—"

"He cornered me," Eileen said, voice muffled against my chest but clear enough. "Locked the door. Grabbed me when I tried to get away."

Valdor surged. I let him—let my lips peel back from teeth that were suddenly too sharp, let a growl roll from my chest that made Derek stumble backward.

"You put your hands on her."

"It wasn't like that—I swear—she's been—" Panic made him stupid. "Everyone knows she wanted—I thought she was trying to get my attention because you were—"

"Stop talking," I said flatly, "before I lose control."

He shut up.

I turned to that woman. "And you. You gathered a mob to attack my pregnant mate. You put my child in danger."

"I didn't *know*—" Her voice cracked. "She never said—"

"Step back," I interrupted, cold and absolute. "Now."

She stepped back.

Everyone did.

I adjusted Eileen in my arms, making sure she was secure—

"Alpha Vane."

The voice was controlled, professional, but carried an undercurrent of shock. I turned to see Professor Ward approaching from the main building, her expression carefully neutral but her eyes wide as she took in the scene.

The dispersing crowd. Celeste's tear-stained face. Derek's terror. Me, holding Eileen like she was made of glass.

Her gaze lingered on Eileen's face, then dropped briefly to where my arm wrapped protectively around her middle. I saw the exact moment she understood—saw the flash of surprise, quickly masked.

"Professor Ward," I said evenly. "I need to take Eileen home. I won't be teaching this afternoon."

It wasn't a request.

She studied me for a long moment, her shock giving way to something softer. When she finally spoke, her voice was measured, professional—a teacher's composure holding despite obvious surprise.

"Of course, Alpha Vane." She paused, then added more quietly: "Take care of her. The Academy will... address what happened here."

A promise, carefully worded.

"Thank you," I said, and meant it.

Then I turned and walked away, Eileen cradled against my chest, Mira falling into step beside us without a word.

Behind us, the quad remained silent as a grave.

---

By the time we reached the gates, Mira had caught up. She stopped at the edge of the path, eyes red-rimmed but fierce.

"I should head back. Someone needs to get your communicator." She looked at Eileen, her voice softening. "And make sure people get the story straight."

"Mira—" Eileen's voice caught. She reached one hand toward her friend. "Thank you. For standing in front of me."

Mira grabbed her hand, squeezing hard. "You're not alone anymore. Remember that."

Eileen nodded, tears spilling over.

Mira looked at me. "Alpha Vane. If you need testimony about what happened—what Derek did, what Celeste did—I saw everything."

"Noted," I said quietly. "Thank you."

She nodded once, then jogged back toward campus.

I carried Eileen to the waiting carriage and settled her carefully on the cushioned seat. She looked hollowed out—like she was still processing what had just happened.

I sat beside her and pulled her against me. She came without resistance, tucking her face into my shoulder.

Through the bond, I could feel the shock radiating from her—muted, distant, like she was watching herself from very far away.

"Eileen," I said gently. "The baby. How is—"

"He's okay." Her voice was small but steady. She pressed one hand to her stomach. "I can feel it now. It's calm again."

Relief crashed through me so hard I had to close my eyes. "Good. That's good."

She was quiet for a moment. Then: "I didn't want to cause trouble. Not before we left for the border. Now everyone knows, and there's going to be talk, and people will—"

"This isn't trouble," I interrupted firmly. I tilted her chin up so she had to look at me. "You stepped forward to protect our child. That took courage. You're a wonderful mother already, Eileen."

"Thank you," she whispered, her voice catching slightly. "For telling me that."

I brushed my thumb across her cheek. "I'll keep saying it, as many times as you need."

She pressed closer, her face tucking into the curve of my neck. I wrapped my arms around her and just held her as the carriage swayed beneath us.

For a long moment, there was only the sound of wheels on cobblestone and her quiet breathing against my collar. Through the bond, I felt the sharp edges of her fear gradually softening—not disappearing, but easing into something she could carry.

Her hand moved to rest on her belly. "He's calmer now," she murmured. "I can feel the baby settling."

"Good." I pressed a kiss to her hair. "That's good."

She was quiet for another moment, then stirred slightly, pulling back just enough to look at me. "Where are we going?"

"Home," I said.

"But..." Confusion crossed her face. "We were supposed to go into town today. For supplies. The border trip."

"We can do that another day," I said gently. "After you've had time to rest."

"No." She shook her head, something sharpening in her expression. "I don't want to wait. I don't want to let them—" She stopped, then started again more firmly. "We made a plan. I don't want them to ruin it. I don't want to give them that power."

I studied her carefully. The fear was still there in her eyes, but something else was rising alongside it—a quiet, stubborn determination.

"What happened today," she continued, her hand moving instinctively to her belly, "it just makes me more sure. I need to get stronger. Faster. I need to be ready." She looked up at me. "For our pup. For myself."

Through the bond, I felt it—not false bravado or forced courage, but genuine resolve. She was choosing this. Actively deciding not to let fear win.

Something warm expanded in my chest.

"You're sure?" I asked quietly.

She nodded. "I'm sure."

I reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "You continue to surprise me, you know that?"

A faint, tired smile touched her lips. "In a good way?"

"In the best way." I cupped her face gently. "Most people would need days to recover from what just happened. But here you are, already standing back up. Already choosing to move forward." My thumb traced her cheekbone. "You're stronger than you think, Eileen."

"I don't feel strong," she admitted softly.

"That's what makes it real strength," I said. "Being afraid and doing it anyway."

She leaned into my touch, eyes closing briefly. When she opened them again, there was something steadier there—not the absence of fear, but the presence of will.

"Then let's go," she said. "Together."

I pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Together."

I leaned forward and tapped on the carriage wall. "Change of plans. Take us to the market district."

As the carriage altered course, Eileen settled back against me. I could still feel her exhaustion, the lingering tremors of shock—but beneath it all was that fierce, bright thread of determination.

My mate was learning to stand. And Moon help anyone who tried to knock her down again.