Mated to Her Alpha Instructor Chapter 31

Eileen

The interior was luxurious—soft velvet cushions, glowing lamps, and a thick wool blanket folded on the seat.

"The evenings are getting colder." Regis settled across from me, close enough that our knees almost touched. He reached for the blanket, and I caught myself watching the movement of his hands with far too much interest. "I thought you might need this."

"I'm fine—" But he was already leaning forward to drape it over my lap, and suddenly he was very, very close. Close enough that I could see the exact shade of his eyes—ice blue with darker rings around the iris. Close enough to feel the warmth radiating from his body.

His hands lingered on the blanket for just a moment longer than necessary, and I saw his nostrils flare slightly as he breathed in. Scenting me. My heart kicked hard against my ribs.

"There." His voice had gone rougher, and when he pulled back, I noticed the tension in his jaw, the careful control in every movement. He was affected too. The knowledge sent a thrill through me that I absolutely should not be feeling.

The carriage lurched forward. I grabbed the seat edge, and Regis immediately leaned forward again, one hand bracing against the wall beside my shoulder.

"Are you alright? Should I tell the driver to slow down?"

"No, I'm fine." But my voice wavered, and not because of the carriage's movement. He was so close I could feel his breath on my cheek, and could see the way his eyes had darkened.

"Are you certain?" His gaze dropped to my lips for just a fraction of a second before snapping back up. "If you're uncomfortable in any way—"

"I'm comfortable." Too comfortable. Dangerously comfortable with how much I wanted him to come closer.

Oh, Eileen, get a grip—you can’t be thinking about your Instructor like that.

He pulled back slowly, settling into his seat again. Finally, I could breathe again.

"How are you feeling? Any nausea this evening?"

"A little better, actually." I pulled the blanket closer, feeling the soft wool. "The fresh air helps."

"Good. I've had the kitchen prepare light meals—chicken broth, poached white fish, soft vegetables, and a bit of bread. Things the healer recommended."

The thought of someone preparing food specifically for me made my chest tight. "Am I being a bother?"

His gaze softened, but his tone stayed firm. "No. You never are. Taking care of you isn’t trouble, Eileen. It’s what I want to do."

Through the bond, I felt the truth of it—not obligation, but instinct.

"Thank you," I whispered.

We rode in comfortable silence as the academy buildings gave way to quieter streets, then forest edges. I found myself stealing glances at Regis when I thought he wasn't looking—the strong line of his throat where his collar lay open, the way the fading light caught in his dark hair.

More than once, I caught him looking at me too, his gaze heating before he deliberately looked away.

"We're almost there," he said finally, his voice slightly strained.

A small house came into view—two stories, warm stone walls, windows glowing with light. A neat garden stretched in front, silvery moonflowers beginning to open in the dusk.

It looked like a home. A real home.

The carriage stopped. Regis helped me down, and I stood staring.

"What do you think?" There was uncertainty in his voice.

"It's beautiful. I didn't expect something this... warm. I thought it would be more formal."

He smiled, a real smile that crinkled his eyes. "I have rooms at the family estate if we need them. But I thought you'd prefer somewhere quieter. More private. Somewhere that could feel like home."

*Home*. The word sent a shiver through me.

Inside was cozy—a fireplace burning, comfortable furniture, soft rugs. The smell of food made my stomach rumble despite lingering nausea.

"Kitchen and living areas are down here. Bedrooms upstairs." He set my trunk down carefully. "But first, you should eat."

In the dining room, a simple meal was laid out exactly as he'd described. Clear broth, delicate fish, steamed greens, rice porridge. My mouth watered.

"Sit. Please."

I sat, and he settled across from me with herbal tea, watching as I picked up my spoon. The first sip of broth was perfect—flavorful but gentle, settling warmly in my stomach.

I tried the fish, then vegetables, eating with real appetite for the first time in days. When I looked up, Regis was watching me with an expression that made my breath catch—tender and pleased.

"You were hungry," he said softly.

I nodded. "I haven't been eating well..."

"I know. That's going to change now." He reached across the table, stopping just short of my hand. "You're not going to struggle anymore, Eileen. Not while I can prevent it."

The conviction in his voice, the way he was looking at me—it stirred something deep inside, a quiet ache that rose unexpectedly. Tears pricked my eyes, though whether from emotion or hormones or the overwhelming awareness between us, I couldn't say. "I'm not used to this. Being cared for."

"Then get used to it." Steel beneath gentleness. "You and our child are my priority. Everything else comes second."

*Our child*. Each time he said it, my heart squeezed.

After I'd eaten more than I'd managed in days, he led me upstairs to the last door on the right.

"This is yours."

The room was bigger than my dorm and my bedroom at home combined. Cream walls, soft blue curtains, a large comfortable bed dressed in crisp white linens. By the window stood a desk and a cushioned chair, and the wardrobe, its doors slightly ajar, revealed new dresses in loose, soft fabrics. There was even a private bathroom.

"I had some clothes prepared for when you start showing more. But if you don't like them—"

"They're perfect." I touched the soft fabric, overwhelmed.

"My room is next door. If you need anything during the night—if you're sick, or scared, or just want company—I'm right there." He stepped into the room but kept his distance. "This is your space. Your private space. I won't come in without permission. You can lock the door if you want. I want you to feel safe here."

The fact that he was giving me the option to lock him out said more than any words.

"Thank you. For everything."

His smile was warm, easy. "Get some rest. Tomorrow we'll handle practical arrangements. But tonight, just settle in. Let yourself believe this is real."

At the door, he paused. "Goodnight, Eileen."

"Goodnight, Instructor Vane."

He chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Just Regis. Please."

I hesitated, the word catching awkwardly in my throat. "…Goodnight, Regis."

Something unreadable flickered in his eyes before he gave a small nod and stepped out, closing the door behind him.

I just stood in the middle of my new room, heart pounding. I could still feel the ghost of his touch on my hand, could still smell him everywhere around me. My body felt restless, aching with a need I didn't fully understand but couldn't deny.

I lay down, breathing in the faint cedar and mint scent clinging to the linens. It wrapped around me like an embrace, and I felt my body relax into it even as something deeper stirred. This was what it meant to be mated, I realized—this constant pull, this awareness, this need to be close.

My hand found my stomach, pressing gently against the barely-there swell.

"We have a home," I whispered. "A real home. With someone who wants us."

The words felt dangerous, like naming hope might shatter it. But lying there surrounded by warmth and safety, I let myself believe—just for tonight—that maybe everything was going to be okay.