Mated to Her Alpha Instructor Chapter 115

Eileen

Morning sunlight slipped through the gaps in the cabin's curtains, casting warm patterns across the wooden floor. I woke in Regis's embrace, his arm wrapped around my waist, palm resting gently on the slight swell of my belly. I could feel his steady breath against my neck, bringing with it a sense of calm security.

I turned carefully, not wanting to wake him. But his eyes opened almost immediately, those ice-blue irises soft with tenderness in the morning light.

"Good morning, Eil," he murmured, his voice still rough with sleep.

"Good morning." I reached up to touch his cheek, feeling the slight scrape of stubble. I liked the realness of it.

Regis shifted to lean over me, careful to avoid my abdomen, then bent to kiss me. The kiss was gentle and lingering, carrying that particular languor of early morning. My fingers threaded through his hair, taking in its softness and the scent of cedar and mint that clung to his skin.

"I have to return to the training camp today," he said against my lips, reluctance heavy in his tone. "I thought we could stay here together every other night—that way it won't interfere with work."

I nodded, though the idea of two full days without seeing him brought a pang of loss. Still, I understood it was necessary. "All right. Be careful."

He looked at me deeply, something complex moving behind his eyes. "You too."

"I will," I promised.

Regis prepared a simple but nourishing breakfast for us.

"You need to eat well," he reminded me, using his thumb to wipe away a bit of honey at the corner of my mouth. "Don't skip meals because of work."

"I won't." I caught his hand and pressed it to my cheek. "You either."

On the ride to the medical station, I leaned against Regis's chest, feeling the warmth of his embrace and the steady rhythm of the horse beneath us. Morning mist still clung to the birch forest, making everything look hazy and beautiful. I closed my eyes and sensed his emotions through the bond—reluctance, worry, and a deep, abiding love.

"Regis," I said softly.

"Mm?"

"Thank you." I paused, searching for the right words. "Thank you for helping me understand... that home isn't a place. It's the feeling of being with you."

His arm tightened slightly around me, and he pressed a kiss to the top of my head. "You are my home, Eileen. No matter where we are."

The words made my eyes sting with emotion. Yes. That was it exactly. Even here in this harsh borderland, even facing unknown dangers and challenges, as long as Regis was beside me, I felt happy and safe. This place had his scent, his protection, the small world we'd built together—this was home.

When we reached the medical station, Regis helped me dismount, his hands lingering at my waist for a few extra seconds. He leaned down to place a restrained kiss on my forehead, though his gaze suggested he wanted to do far more.

"Tomorrow night," he said quietly.

"Tomorrow night," I echoed, forcing myself not to throw my arms around him.

I watched him ride away, his tall figure gradually disappearing down the forest path. That familiar hollowness opened in my chest, but alongside it came a warm certainty—he would return, we would be together again. This wasn't separation. Just a temporary goodbye.

---

The following week passed as if on fast-forward. I adjusted to the rhythm of work at the border medical station, assisting Dr. Hawthorne daily with treating wounded soldiers, preparing medicines, and recording case notes. The warriors' injuries varied—some were scrapes and sprains from training, others serious wounds from patrol skirmishes. I learned to maximize our limited resources and how to stay calm in emergencies.

What relieved me was that Nina seemed more settled than before. She remained cold and distant, her words always sparse, but at least she no longer locked herself in her room.

Mira, on the other hand, had completely adapted to life here. Her warm personality flourished—she constantly helped the wounded with small tasks, bringing them water, changing bandages, keeping them company and lifting their spirits. The soldiers adored her, calling her "the camp's little sun." Seeing her bustling about filled me with genuine happiness.

As for the observer Silas, he'd vanished for nearly a week after that inspection with Regis. Honestly, I was quietly relieved by his absence. Without someone watching over my shoulder, I felt much more at ease. Though Silas appeared friendly and polite, his very presence was a source of pressure—he represented the council, represented those who doubted me and waited for me to fail.

Regis and I maintained our rhythm of spending every other night together at the cabin. Those nights became my most treasured times. We would cook together, sit by the fire and talk, sharing our daily experiences. Then we'd fall asleep in each other's arms, finding the deepest peace in that embrace.

What warmed me most was how completely the medical station's warriors and staff had accepted me. Even though the mark on my neck clearly proclaimed my future as Luna, they didn't distance themselves because of it. Instead, they respected my medical skills and efforts all the more. One older warrior had told me, "Status is one thing. Ability is another."

That comment stayed with me for a long time.

---

But tonight, I couldn't go to the cabin. Regis had an emergency meeting at the training camp and couldn't get away—we'd have to postpone our night together. I understood, even volunteered to stay at the dormitory so he could focus on his duties.

I just hadn't expected tonight to be so difficult.

The baby was unusually restless. I could feel a light fluttering, like small waves rippling through me. It wasn't pain, but a strange sensation—my child reminding me of their presence, seeking some kind of comfort.

I tossed and turned in bed, unable to fall asleep.

Eventually I gave up, pulled on my robe, and walked into the common room. Night air slipped through the window cracks, carrying the crisp scent of the forest. I moved quietly, one hand on my belly, humming a tuneless melody to soothe the baby.

"Be good, little one," I whispered. "Mama's tired and needs rest. Your father's busy too. When he comes back, we'll all sleep soundly, all right?"

That's when I heard it.

Soft, muffled, but unmistakable in the night's silence—something between a whimper and broken murmuring.

I followed the sound. It was coming from Nina's room.

My heart clenched. Nina's room was usually deathly quiet; she was always so silent it was as if she didn't exist. But now, weak light leaked from under her door, along with those unsettling sounds.

I hesitated, then walked to her door and knocked gently.

"Nina? Are you all right?"

No response.

The whimpering continued, growing more urgent. I caught fragments of words—"Don't... please... don't do that..."

My hand was already on the doorknob. I knew this was wrong, that I shouldn't intrude on someone's privacy. But the desperation and fear in those sounds made it impossible to walk away.

The door wasn't locked.

I pushed it open slowly. The sight before me made me gasp.

Nina was curled in the corner of her room, back against the wall, arms wrapped around her knees. Her long hair hung disheveled over her shoulders, her face streaked with tears. But what truly alarmed me was her expression—vacant, hollow, as if she were seeing something terrible that I couldn't.

"Don't do that..." she mumbled, her voice shaking and fractured. "Please... I'll be good... don't..."