Mated to Her Alpha Instructor Chapter 19

Eileen

The stew was nearly done when the smell hit me.

I'd been stirring the pot, watching the chunks of venison and root vegetables simmer in the broth, when the rich, gamey scent of the meat suddenly seemed to swell and thicken in the air, filling my nose and throat with a cloying, nauseating heaviness. My stomach twisted violently, and before I could stop myself, I doubled over the sink, retching.

Nothing came up—I hadn't eaten since yesterday—but the nausea was overwhelming, waves of it rolling through me as I gripped the edge of the counter and tried to breathe through my mouth. My hand slipped on the spoon, and I heard the hiss and crackle of the stew boiling over, the smell of burning meat and scorched vegetables adding to the chaos.

"What in the Moon's name are you doing?" My mother's voice was sharp and furious as she stormed into the kitchen, her eyes taking in the mess with a single withering glance. "You're burning dinner? Eileen, that venison was expensive! Are you trying to waste it on purpose?"

"I'm sorry," I gasped, still bent over the sink, my throat raw. "I didn't mean to—I just felt sick, I—"

"Sick?" She let out a harsh, incredulous laugh. "You felt sick? You don't even shift, Eileen. You don't fight, you don't train, you don't do anything that would make you sick. This is just you being careless and dramatic."

I straightened slowly, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, and turned to face her. Her expression was cold, disgusted, and behind her I could see my father leaning in the doorway, his arms crossed, his face set in the same look of weary disappointment I'd seen a thousand times before.

"Clean this up," my mother snapped. "And make something else. Something simple, since apparently even stew is too complicated for you."

I nodded mutely and turned back to the stove, scraping the burnt remnants into the waste bin and starting over with trembling hands. My stomach still churned, but I forced myself to focus on the task, to keep my breathing steady, to ignore the way my mother's words echoed in my head.

Dinner was a tense, miserable affair. I managed to throw together a simple vegetable soup and some bread, but the atmosphere at the table was thick with resentment. My father made a pointed comment about how I'd "specially worked hard" to burn their dinner, and my mother added that I must be getting sloppy at the academy, that I'd better not be embarrassing the family with my carelessness.

Gareth, chewing on a piece of bread, glanced at me with something that might have been concern if it weren't so clearly laced with condescension.

"Maybe she's just stressed, you know? The academy's supposed to be really demanding. Not like my school." He said it lightly, but there was an edge to his voice, a barely concealed resentment that I'd been sent to the prestigious St. Helena while he'd been kept closer to home.

Father snorted. "Demanding or not, she's still wolfless. No amount of studying is going to change that. And it's not like she's going to be leading hunts or defending territory. She should be grateful we're even paying for her to be there."

Mother nodded, her expression hard. "She's lucky we're investing in her at all. Most families wouldn't bother. But your father and I thought maybe she could at least make herself useful as a healer. Though at this rate..." She trailed off, shaking her head.

I kept my eyes on my bowl, forcing myself to eat even though every bite felt like swallowing stones. My stomach was still uneasy, and the rich smell of the soup—mild as it was—made me queasy, but I didn't dare leave the table. I just sat there, silent and small, and waited for the meal to be over.

When it finally was, I excused myself as quickly as I could and retreated to my room, closing the door behind me and leaning against it, my whole body shaking.

No one had asked if I was all right. No one had cared.

---

That night, I lay in bed with the door locked, staring up at the ceiling and trying to make sense of what was happening to me. The exhaustion. The nausea. The strange, sweet undertone to my scent that Mira had noticed and that I couldn't seem to wash away.

I pressed my hand to my stomach, feeling the slight curve of it beneath my nightgown, and tried to tell myself it was impossible.

I closed my eyes, my breath coming faster, and felt the edges of panic creeping in. If I was pregnant—if I really was—then I couldn't stay here. I couldn't let my family find out. They would be furious, humiliated. My mother would call me a disgrace. My father would disown me.

And the academy... the academy had rules. Students weren't allowed to be pregnant. I would be expelled, or at the very least forced to take a leave of absence, and I couldn't afford that. I needed my scholarship. I needed to finish my training.

I needed to know for sure.

The thought crystallized in my mind, sharp and cold. I couldn't do this here, where everyone knew me, where word would spread faster than wildfire. But there was a clinic near the academy, a small, discreet place that served transient pack members and didn't ask too many questions.

I would go there. On my way back to the academy. Before anyone else could find out.

I pressed my hands to my face, feeling the hot sting of tears, and tried to breathe through the fear that was tightening around my chest like a vise.

*Please,* I thought, though I didn't know who I was praying to. *Please let me be wrong.*

---

The next day passed in a haze. My parents were gone most of Saturday, taking Gareth to his combat trials and then out to celebrate afterward, and I was left alone in the house with nothing but my own spiraling thoughts for company. I tried to eat, but everything made me nauseous. I tried to sleep, but the exhaustion was so deep and pervasive that even when I did manage to rest, I woke feeling just as drained.

On Sunday morning, I packed my bag early and told my parents I needed to leave—that the academy had sent an urgent notice about returning students.

My mother barely looked up from her tea. "Fine. Not like you've been much help around here anyway—just drifting around like a ghost."

My father nodded absently, and Gareth didn't even glance in my direction.

I was halfway to the door when my mother called out, "Eileen. Wait."