Mated to Her Alpha Instructor Chapter 135

Eileen

The treatment room smelled of antiseptic herbs and blood—a combination that no longer made my stomach turn after weeks at the medical station. I worked quickly, my hands steady as I cleaned the infected wounds on the unconscious Beta's neck and shoulder. The bites were deep, jagged at the edges where rogue fangs had torn through flesh with vicious intent.

"Pass me the yarrow paste," I murmured to the assistant hovering at my elbow.

She handed me the ceramic bowl without hesitation, her movements efficient. I'd trained her well these past days, teaching her the same techniques Hawthorne had drilled into me. The paste went on thick, its astringent scent cutting through the metallic tang of blood.

Behind me, Regis stood with his arms crossed, his presence a solid wall of warmth at my back. Through our bond, I felt his protective instincts humming like a plucked string—taut but controlled. He'd been this way since bringing the injured man in an hour ago, his wolf prowling just beneath his skin.

I understood. Every injured wolf was a reminder that danger lurked at our borders, that Silas remained at large with less than two weeks until the full moon.

"How is he?" Kieran's voice came from the doorway, low and careful.

"Stable," I said without looking up. "The infection is responding to treatment. He should wake soon."

"Good." Kieran stepped fully into the room, his sword belt creaking. "Patrols found no sign of the rogues who attacked him. They scattered after he shifted and ran."

Regis made a sound of acknowledgment, his attention never wavering from my work. I felt his gaze tracking my every movement—not doubting my skill, but simply... watching. Keeping vigil in his own way.

I finished applying the paste and reached for clean bandages. As I wound them around the Beta's throat, I studied his face properly for the first time. Even unconscious and pale from blood loss, he had kind features—a strong jaw softened by the gentle curve of his mouth, laugh lines at the corners of his eyes. His hands bore the calluses of a swordsman, but his nails were neatly trimmed, his gear well-maintained.

*Whoever sent him knew they were sending someone capable,* I thought, securing the bandage. *Someone trusted.*

"He'll need the dressing changed every two hours," I told the assistant. "And if his fever spikes, come get me immediately."

"Yes, Healer Wylde."

I straightened slowly, pressing a hand to the small of my back. The ache had become constant lately, my body adjusting to the growing weight in my belly. More than three months along now, and the bump was unmistakable beneath my loose tunics.

Regis was at my side instantly, his hand replacing mine, warm and steady. "Tired?"

"A little." I leaned into his touch, letting myself relax for just a moment. "But I want to stay until he wakes. Make sure there are no complications."

"Eileen—"

"I know," I said softly, turning to meet his eyes. They held that particular shade of concern I'd come to recognize—the one that meant his wolf was urging him to carry me away to safety whether I liked it or not. "But he rode through rogue territory to deliver a message. The least I can do is make sure he survives to deliver it."

Regis's jaw tightened, but he nodded. Before he could argue further, the door burst open with enough force to rattle the hinges.

"Eileen! I heard Alpha Vane came back early and—oh."

Mira froze in the doorway, a basket of fresh herbs clutched against her chest. Her eyes went wide, fixed on something over my shoulder with an expression I'd never seen on her face before—shock mixed with something raw and primal that made my breath catch.

"Mira?" I took a step toward her, but she didn't seem to hear me. "Are you—"

The basket slipped from her fingers.

I lunged forward, catching it before the carefully bundled herbs could scatter across the floor. When I looked up, Mira still hadn't moved. Her face had gone bright red, her chest rising and falling in rapid, shallow breaths.

"Mira, what's wrong?" I set the basket aside and reached for her hand. Her skin burned hot to the touch, and beneath my fingers, her pulse hammered wildly. "Are you sick? Should I—"

"She smells it," Regis said quietly.

I whipped around to stare at him. He was watching Mira with an expression of dawning understanding, one eyebrow raised as his gaze flicked between my friend and the unconscious Beta on the bed.

"Smells what?" I demanded, though even as I asked, realization crashed over me like a wave.

*Oh.*

*Oh no.*

Mira's wolf was going absolutely mad inside her—I could see it in the way her hands trembled, how her pupils had blown wide and dark. She took two stumbling steps toward the bed as if pulled by invisible strings, then caught herself on the doorframe with a strangled sound.

"Mira," I said gently, moving to block her view of the Beta. "Look at me."

She did, finally, and the helpless confusion in her eyes made my heart ache. "Eileen, I... I don't... He smells like..."

"I know." I squeezed her shoulders, steadying her. "It's okay. Just breathe."

"But I don't even *know* him," she whispered, her voice cracking. "I've never—he's—" Her gaze darted past me to the bed again, hungry and desperate and terrified all at once. "Why does it hurt to be this far away from him?"

Behind us, I heard movement—a shift of fabric, a low groan. My medical instincts screamed at me to turn around, to check on my patient, but Mira needed me more right now.

"It's the bond," I said softly. "You know that. Your wolf recognizes him."

"But—" Mira's face crumpled. "What if he doesn't want—I mean, look at me, I'm a mess, and he's probably—"

"Mate."

The single word cut through the room like a blade.

I spun around. The Beta—Owen, Regis had called him—was awake, propped up on one elbow despite the bandages restricting his movement. His amber eyes were locked on Mira with an intensity that made the air feel charged, electric.

---

Mira

Moon Goddess help me, I couldn't breathe.

The stranger's eyes found mine across the room, and everything else ceased to exist. Not Eileen's worried face, not Alpha Vane's imposing presence, not even the medicinal smell of the treatment room. Just him. Just those amber eyes that seemed to see straight through to my wolf's frantic, joyful howling.

*Mate mate mate—*

"I..." My voice came out as barely a whisper. I tried again, forcing the words through my constricted throat. "You're hurt."

Brilliant observation, Mira. Really showing off your stunning intellect there.

But he smiled—actually *smiled* despite the pain that must be screaming through his torn shoulder—and it transformed his entire face. Made him look younger, softer, like maybe he laughed often and easily when he wasn't bleeding all over someone's medical station.

"I'm better now," he said, his voice rough from disuse but warm as honey. "Now that..."

He tried to sit up fully, and I watched the color drain from his face as the movement pulled at his injuries. Before I could think, before I could stop myself, I was moving—practically shoving past Eileen, my hands reaching for him with a desperation that should have embarrassed me.

"Don't!" The word came out sharper than I'd intended. "You'll tear the stitches."

My palms landed on his chest, pressing him gently but firmly back against the pillows. The moment our skin touched, the world *exploded*.

Heat shot through me from the point of contact, racing up my arms and flooding my entire body with a sensation so intense it bordered on pain. My wolf surged forward with a possessive snarl, wanting to mark, to claim, to never let go. His scent surrounded me—warm amber and cedarwood, with an underlying note of something green and growing, like spring forests after rain.

*Home,* my wolf whimpered. *Finally home.*

"I'm Owen," he said softly, and I realized I was still touching him, my hands spread across his chest where I could feel his heart hammering as wildly as my own. "Owen Hayes. From Northridge Pack."

"Mira." My voice sounded strange to my own ears, breathy and uncertain. "I'm... Mira Thornwood."

His hand came up to cover one of mine, his palm rough with calluses but his touch gentle. "Mira," he repeated, like he was tasting my name. "I knew you'd have a beautiful name."

My face went nuclear. I wanted to say something clever, something that would make him smile again, but all that came out was a strangled "How?"

"My wolf kept telling me I needed to come on this journey." His thumb traced circles on the back of my hand, and each stroke sent sparks dancing up my arm. "I thought it was just about delivering Alpha Cross's invitation, but... I think he knew. Somehow, he knew you were waiting."

*Oh Moon Goddess.* I was going to combust. Right here in the medical station, I was going to spontaneously burst into flames from pure mortification and joy and terror all mixed together.

"I should..." I glanced back at Eileen, who was watching us with barely suppressed glee. Behind her, Alpha Vane wore the faintest smile. "I should let you rest. You need to heal, and I'm probably—"

"Stay." Owen's fingers tightened on mine, not painful but urgent. "Please. I've been looking for you my entire life. Don't leave yet."

The raw honesty in his voice undid me. I sank onto the edge of the bed, careful not to jostle him, and nodded mutely.

Eileen cleared her throat. "We'll, um. We'll give you two some privacy."

I barely registered her and Alpha Vane leaving, their footsteps fading down the corridor. All I could focus on was Owen, on the way his eyes tracked my every movement like I was the most precious thing he'd ever seen.

"You should rest," I managed, scrubbing at my eyes with my free hand. "Really rest. I'll stay—if you want—but you need to sleep."

"I want." His eyes were already drifting shut, exhaustion finally catching up with the pain medication Eileen had administered. "Don't leave?"

"I won't." The promise came easily, naturally. "I'll be right here when you wake up."

His breathing evened out almost immediately, his hand going slack in mine. I should have pulled away, should have given him space to heal properly. Instead, I stayed exactly where I was, watching the rise and fall of his chest and marveling at the impossible reality of the last hour.

*Mate.*

I had a mate.

His name was Owen Hayes, he was a tracker from Northridge Pack, and apparently he'd nearly died trying to deliver an invitation that might just save us all.

And somehow, impossibly, wonderfully—he wanted me too.