Mated to Her Alpha Instructor Chapter 111

Eileen

The second day at the outpost began with the sharp scent of antiseptic and mountain air. Dr. Hawthorne gathered us in the main hall, outlining the daily rhythm: morning rounds, practical training, evening reviews. Cora distributed worn manuals and blank ledgers with a warning that border medicine didn't follow textbook rules.

I nodded along, trying to focus, but everything felt slightly off. There was no warm breakfast waiting, no Regis appearing with that soft look in his eyes. My fingers drifted to my neck—the mark was less raised than yesterday, the skin beginning to smooth. Without his presence to reinforce it, the bond made his absence feel almost physical, a dull ache I couldn't ignore.

But he was enduring the same thing, wasn't he? Supporting my work here despite the separation. I owed it to him—to both of us—to make this count. I straightened my shoulders and refocused on learning and working.

---

The afternoon brought us to the practice yard, and that's when Mira's disaster struck.

She'd been tasked with preparing a simple clotting salve—powdered root, binding oil, heated gently until combined. I was working on my own mixture nearby when I heard her yelp.

"Uh... Eileen?"

I looked up. Mira stood frozen, staring into her mortar with an expression of pure horror. Inside was a thick, viscous sludge the color of pond algae, clinging to the sides like medicinal tar.

Cora appeared at her shoulder, lips twitching. "Well. That would certainly seal a wound. The patient might lose some skin peeling it off, though."

Mira groaned, covering her face. "I swear I followed the instructions!"

I set down my pestle and moved to her side, examining the mess. The brazier beneath her workspace still glowed fiercely—far too hot. "You had the heat too high," I said gently. "This kind of salve needs a slow, steady flame. If it gets too hot too fast, the oil breaks down and the powder clumps together."

She peeked through her fingers. "Like... cooking?"

"Exactly like cooking." I reached for a cloth to help her clean up. "Think of it like stewing meat. High heat burns the outside before the inside cooks through. You need low, even warmth to let everything blend."

Her face lit with understanding. "Oh! I see."

She threw her arms around me so suddenly I nearly stumbled. "Eileen, I'm clinging to you for dear life. You're the only thing standing between me and a camp full of poisoned warriors."

I laughed despite myself, steadying us both. Nina, watching from across the table, made a sound that might have been a snort of amusement. Dr. Hawthorne approached, surveying the now-cleaned workspace. "Miss Wylde," he said thoughtfully, "you have a gift for teaching. You should consider mentoring someday."

The words settled into me, warm and strange. I'd spent so long thinking of myself as the one who needed help. The idea that I could guide someone else felt almost foreign—but not unwelcome.

After finishing today's mission, we went back to our shared quarters, and Mira collapsed onto the couch with theatrical despair. "My brain is soup."

I handed her a cup of water and settled into the chair across from her. Nina slipped past us without a word, disappearing into her room and shutting the door softly. Mira watched her go, then leaned toward me. "Does she ever actually talk? Or is she just... permanently frozen?"

"Maybe she's not used to people," I murmured.

Mira sighed into her tea. "Well, at least I've got you."

Her words wrapped around me like a hug, and I smiled despite the exhaustion pulling at my limbs.

---

Once Mira had gone to bed, I retreated to my own room and pulled out the communicator. It pulsed faintly with stored messages, and my heart gave an eager leap as I activated it.

*"How was your day? Are you feeling all right?"*

I smiled, tracing the script with my fingertips as if I could touch him through it. *"Exhausting but good. I think I actually helped today. How are you?"*

His reply came almost immediately. *"Busy, but nothing I can't handle. I'm glad you're settling in."*

A pause, then: *"I miss you."*

My throat tightened. *"I miss you too. I wish you were here."*

*"I'll come see you as soon as I can manage it. Try to rest tonight, love."*

I set the device down on the nightstand, its faint glow casting soft shadows across the walls. The bond between us hummed gently—constant, reassuring—but it wasn't the same as having him near. I missed the weight of his hand on my back. The way his scent wrapped around me and made the world feel smaller, safer.

I lay back against the pillows, one hand resting on the curve of my belly, and closed my eyes. Through the bond, I could feel him—distant but present, his emotions a steady pulse of determination and warmth. And beneath it all, something else. A carefully banked heat that made my breath hitch.

My fingers drifted to my throat almost absently, tracing the mark he'd left on my neck. The moment my fingertips brushed the raised skin, a jolt shot through me.

I gasped softly, my breath catching. The mark was so sensitive—more than it had been even this morning. Every light touch sent ripples of heat cascading down my spine, pooling low in my belly and spreading outward like warm honey. I pressed my fingers more firmly against it, and this time the sensation was stronger—a pulse of pleasure that made my thighs clench involuntarily.

*Oh...*

I could feel myself growing wet, a slick heat gathering between my legs that was impossible to ignore. Through the bond, I felt Regis's presence shift slightly, his focus sharpening as if he'd sensed something. The knowledge that he might feel this—might know what I was doing—only made the ache worse.

I'd never done this before. Not like this.

Before I met him, the few times I'd touched myself had been hurried and shameful, done quickly in the dark. But now, lying here with his mark burning against my skin and his presence thrumming through the bond, it felt different.

It felt like he was with me.

My hand slid lower, fingers trailing over the curve of my breast. I remembered the way he'd touched me there—reverently, hungrily, his mouth following the path of his hands. I cupped myself through the thin fabric of my nightgown, and my nipple tightened beneath my palm. A whimper escaped before I could stop it.

*Regis...*

I pushed the gown up, baring my skin to the cool air, and let my hand drift lower still—over the swell of my belly where our child grew, down to the place that ached for him most. When my fingers finally slipped between my thighs, I was already so wet I flushed with embarrassment even though I was alone.

The first tentative touch made my hips jerk off the bed.

I bit my lip hard, trying to stay quiet, but it was impossible. My fingers moved almost of their own accord, circling the sensitive bundle of nerves that throbbed in time with my racing heart. I thought of his hands—larger, rougher, infinitely more skilled. I thought of his mouth on my throat, his teeth grazing the mark as he murmured my name like a prayer. I thought of the way he'd looked at me that last morning before we parted, his eyes dark with hunger barely held in check.

The pleasure built quickly, spiraling higher with every stroke. My free hand flew to my mouth, muffling the sounds I couldn't quite hold back. Through the bond, I felt a sudden flare of heat—his awareness sharpening, his own desire surging toward me like a wave crashing against shore.

It shattered me.

The climax hit hard and sudden, my body arching as pleasure rolled through me in deep, shuddering pulses. I cried out softly into my palm, my thighs trembling, my heart pounding so hard I thought it might burst from my chest. For one dizzying, endless moment, I felt him everywhere—in the bond, in the mark on my neck, in the phantom touch of hands that weren't there but might as well have been.

When it finally ebbed, I lay there gasping and boneless, my skin flushed and my body still humming with aftershocks.

Through the bond, his presence settled over me like a warm blanket—surprise first, then satisfaction so deep it made my eyes sting, then something achingly tender that wrapped around my heart and squeezed.

I pulled the covers up to my chin, a smile tugging at my lips despite my exhaustion.

The loneliness didn't feel quite so sharp anymore.