Mated to Her Alpha Instructor Chapter 121

Nina

Before I could process the thought, voices drifted through the trees again.

"Let's break for lunch," one of the workers said, stretching his back. "We'll finish the door frame this afternoon."

They moved away from the pit, heading toward a small camp I could now see in the opposite tree line. The moment they disappeared from view, some reckless impulse seized me.

I should run. Should flee back to the station immediately, lock myself in my room, pretend I'd never seen this place.

But my feet carried me forward instead, scrambling down into the clearing until I stood at the pit's edge. Up close, the construction was even more meticulous. The timber was treated against rot. The metal fixtures were new, showing no rust. Whoever commissioned this had money and planning.

My gaze fell on a scrap of wood near the ladder they'd used to climb in and out—a piece trimmed from one of the support beams. A mark had been burned into the grain: a stylized crow with spread wings, a crescent moon behind it.

The Crowe family crest.

I recognized it from my nightmares. From the brand they'd threatened to put on my mother. From the documents I'd glimpsed when Silas came to gloat about my mother's "cooperation" in those final days before—

My hand moved without conscious thought, snatching up the wood scrap and shoving it into my cloak pocket. Evidence. Proof that this wasn't paranoia or trauma playing tricks on my mind.

But even as I backed away from the pit, boots slipping in the loose soil, a horrifying realization crystallized:

What was I supposed to do with this proof?

Tell someone? Would anyone believe me—Nina Grey, the antisocial loner with no history, no family, no credibility—over Silas, apparently a respectable man in charge of the border?

And besides, there wasn't a single werewolf I could fully trust. They had destroyed my mother, stolen my childhood. I couldn't put my fate in their hands.

The workers' voices drifted back through the trees. I scrambled away from the clearing, not bothering with stealth now, just desperate to put distance between myself and that pit before they returned.

Only when I'd put half a mile of forest behind me did I slow, leaning against a birch trunk and pressing my forehead to the cool bark. My pulse thundered in my ears. The wood scrap felt like it was burning a hole through my pocket.

*What am I supposed to do?*

The question repeated endlessly as I made my way back toward the medical station, each step heavier than the last.

By the time the station's buildings came into view through the trees, my mind had cycled through and discarded a dozen plans. My hands had resumed their trembling. The fragile calm I'd found during my walk had shattered completely, replaced by a choking mixture of fear and helpless rage.

I pushed through the side entrance, head down, just wanting to reach my room and lock the door and figure out what the hell to do—

"—should see improvement within another week if the treatment continues."

Eileen's voice.

I looked up reflexively, and my entire world stopped.

Silas Crowe stood in the corridor not twenty feet away, his back to me as he spoke with Eileen. The lamplight caught the silver at his temples, the elegant cut of his Council coat, the relaxed posture of a man completely in control of his environment.

And I was trapped between him and the only exit.

My feet welded themselves to the floor. Couldn't move forward. Couldn't retreat. Could barely breathe as Eileen's gaze shifted past Silas and landed on me.

Her eyes widened with immediate concern. "Nina? Are you alright?"

*No. Run. Don't say my name don't draw attention don't—*

But it was too late. Silas turned, following Eileen's line of sight, and for the first time in ten years I found myself facing the man who'd haunted every nightmare since childhood.

He looked older than I remembered. More distinguished. The cruelty I'd seen in torchlight was now hidden beneath layers of respectability and cultured manners. But the eyes—those cold, calculating eyes—were exactly the same.

"This must be your colleague," he said smoothly, giving me a polite nod. "Miss Grey, I presume? The third trainee?"

My name in his mouth. My current name, the one I'd chosen when I fled, the identity I'd built from nothing. Hearing it spoken by *him* made my skin crawl.

"I—" The word caught in my throat. Had to force it out. "Yes."

Eileen stepped closer, worry creasing her forehead. She'd seen my distress, bless her observant heart. "Nina, you look terrible. Did something happen? You're covered in dirt—"

I was aware, distantly, that I probably looked like I'd been through hell. Leaves in my hair from pushing through underbrush. Mud on my boots and cloak hem. Face undoubtedly pale as death.

But I couldn't explain. Couldn't say anything with *him* standing right there, watching me with that false concern painted across his features.

I needed to leave. Now. Before I said something that would give me away.

I turned to go, moving too quickly in my panic. An orderly rushed past in the opposite direction, arms full of supplies, moving just as fast in the narrow corridor.

We collided hard.

The impact sent me stumbling backward. I tried to catch myself, but my boot caught on the uneven floor. I went down, landing hard on my side, my hair spilling loose from its tie as my head hit the ground.

For a moment I just lay there, dazed, the world tilting around me.

Hands reached for me—the orderly apologizing profusely, someone kneeling beside me. I pushed myself up on one elbow, my hair falling forward and then sliding to one side as I moved.

That's when I felt it. The cool air on my exposed neck.

And Silas's gaze—sharp, focused, burning into one specific spot.

I froze, my hand instinctively moving toward my neck, but it was too late. I could see it in his eyes, the sudden recognition, the way his entire posture changed.

The fire-shaped mark that curved from behind my right ear down to my collarbone—the mark left from the torture I'd endured during my captivity.

Time seemed to crystallize. I watched Silas's expression in horrible slow motion: the polite interest, then the sharp focus, then the moment of recognition—

His eyes met mine.

And I knew, with absolute certainty, that he'd just placed me. The face might have matured, the name might have changed, but that mark was unmistakable. Unique. Damning.

The little girl in the cage. All grown up. Standing right in front of him.

Something flickered in his gaze—surprise, perhaps, or maybe satisfaction—before his expression smoothed back into practiced neutrality. But I'd seen it. That flash of recognition. That split second where the mask slipped.

He knew exactly who I was.

My body responded before my mind could catch up. I stumbled backward, nearly tripping over my own feet, some garbled excuse trying to form on my lips—

"Excuse me—I need to—I'm sorry—"

Then I was moving, not walking but nearly running down the corridor, Eileen calling something after me that I couldn't process through the roaring in my ears. My hands found the doorframe of the dormitory wing, used it to propel myself forward, boots skidding on the wooden floors in my haste.

The door to my room. Key fumbling from my pocket. Lock engaging with a solid click that still didn't feel like enough protection.

I pressed my back against the door and slid down to sit on the floor, arms wrapped around my knees, and finally—finally—let myself fall completely apart.