Mated to Her Alpha Instructor Chapter 22

Regis

I opened the message, my pulse roaring in my ears, and read the words twice before they fully registered.

[Good. Tonight at eight, the Moonwatch Terrace behind the academy. — Eileen]

I stared at the screen, my mind struggling to process the speed of her reply, the certainty of her tone, the fact that she'd chosen the location herself. Kieran let out a low whistle. "She didn't waste any time."

"No," I said slowly. "She didn't." And that, more than anything, sent a cold thread of unease curling through my gut. Why now? Why so quickly, after two weeks of silence?

Valdor's voice rumbled to life in my mind, low and urgent. *She answered. She wants to see us. We have to go.*

*I know,* I thought back. *But something's wrong. She wouldn't—*

*It doesn't matter,* Valdor interrupted fiercely. *She's willing to talk. That's what matters.*

I looked at Kieran, who was watching me with an expression that was equal parts encouraging and cautious. "What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking," I said carefully, "that she has something she needs to tell me. Something important."

Kieran nodded. "Then you'd better be ready to listen."

I sent a brief reply—*I'll be there*—and slipped the communicator back onto my belt, my hands trembling slightly with a mixture of anticipation and dread. Kieran stood and offered me a hand, pulling me to my feet with a firm grip.

"Go," he said simply. "And whatever she says, remember—you want her. That's what matters."

I nodded, my throat too tight for words, and turned toward the path that would take me back to the academy, my mind already racing ahead to the terrace, to the moonlight, to the conversation that would decide everything.

---

The Moonwatch Terrace was exactly as I remembered it—a wide stone platform carved into the hillside behind the academy, ringed by ancient pines whose branches swayed and whispered in the evening breeze. It was a place of meditation and observation, where students came to study the moon's phases and practice their shifting under the open sky, and tonight it was deserted, bathed in the pale silver light of the crescent moon that hung low on the horizon.

I arrived early, too restless to wait, and stood at the edge of the terrace with my hands braced against the stone railing, staring out at the distant lights of the academy below. My heart was pounding, my wolf pacing anxiously in the back of my mind, and I forced myself to breathe slowly, to stay calm, to prepare for whatever she might say.

*She's coming,* Valdor murmured, his voice tight with anticipation. *Our Eileen is coming.*

*I know,* I thought back. *Just... stay calm. Don't push her.*

*I won't,* he promised, though I could feel the tension coiling in him, the desperate need to see her, to be near her, to confirm that she was real and whole and ours.

The sound of footsteps on the stone path made me turn, and then I saw her—a small, solitary figure emerging from the shadows at the terrace entrance, her silhouette outlined against the faint glow of the academy lights behind her. She paused at the top of the steps, her hands clutching the edges of her cloak, and for a moment we simply stared at each other across the empty space, the air between us thick with everything we hadn't said.

And then she stepped forward into the moonlight, and I saw her clearly for the first time in two weeks.

She wasn't wearing a scarf. Her neck was bare, pale and unmarked in the silver light, and the sight of it sent a sharp, irrational pang through my chest—proof that the bond had truly faded, that the mark I'd left on her was gone as if it had never been. Her hair hung loose around her shoulders, and her face was drawn and tired, shadows pooling beneath her eyes, her expression fragile in a way that made every protective instinct I had flare to life.

"You came," I said softly, my voice rougher than I'd intended.

She nodded, her gaze flicking to mine and then away again, and took another slow step forward. I stayed where I was, forcing myself not to move, not to close the distance between us, because I could see the tension in every line of her body, the way her hands twisted together in front of her as if she were holding herself upright through sheer will.

And then the wind shifted, carrying her scent to me across the terrace, and everything else fell away.

It was her—chamomile and apple, the familiar sweetness I'd been craving for weeks—but underneath it, woven through it, was something new. Something warm and rich and impossibly sweet, like honey and ripe fruit and sunlight on fresh earth, a scent that bypassed every rational thought in my mind and went straight to the most primal part of me, the part that knew what it meant before I could even process the information.

I froze, my breath catching in my throat, my entire body going rigid as Valdor surged forward in my mind with a howl of pure, overwhelming joy.

*Pup! She carries our pup!*

The world tilted sideways, and I had to grip the railing to keep myself steady, my vision narrowing to the sight of her standing there in the moonlight, small and fragile and carrying something infinitely precious. My hands curled into fists, claws threatening to break through skin, and I forced myself to breathe, to stay in control, to not let the wolf take over and terrify her.

"Eileen," I said, my voice shaking despite my best efforts. "Your scent... you smell..." I stopped, swallowed hard, and met her eyes. "Are you pregnant?"

She went utterly still, her face draining of color, and for a long, terrible moment she didn't answer. Then, slowly—so slowly it was almost imperceptible—she nodded.

The confirmation hit me like a physical blow, and I felt Valdor's elation crash over me in waves, felt my own heart stutter and then race, felt the world rearrange itself around this single, undeniable truth. She was carrying my child. Our child.

And she was terrified.

I could see it in the way her shoulders hunched inward, in the way her hands clutched at her cloak as if it were the only thing keeping her upright, in the tears that spilled over and tracked down her cheeks in the moonlight. "I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice breaking. "I didn't mean for this to happen. I don't know what to do. I—"

"Eileen," I said, and my voice came out hoarse, desperate, aching with everything I couldn't yet put into words. I took a step toward her, then stopped, my hands shaking with the effort of holding myself back. "Eileen, please—"