Mated to Her Alpha Instructor Chapter 34

Eileen

The afternoon sun slanted through the herb garden's glass panels as I knelt beside a patch of moonwort, carefully trimming the silver-edged leaves. Around me, other students worked in quiet concentration, the air thick with the mingled scents of dozens of medicinal plants. Normally I found this work soothing, but today my mind kept drifting back to lunch in Regis's office, to the way he'd looked at me across that small table.

I forced my attention back to the moonwort. The practical session would end at three-thirty, and then I'd need to head to the kitchen for my shift. The lie I'd told Regis sat heavy in my chest, but I pushed the guilt down. I *needed* this work. Needed my own money, my own sense of independence. Even if he'd promised to provide everything, even if his care felt genuine and endless, I couldn't bring myself to become completely dependent on anyone.

Not even him.

By the time the session ended and I'd cleaned the dirt from under my nails, it was nearly four o'clock. I hurried across campus toward the service buildings, my worn bag bouncing against my hip. The kitchen entrance was tucked away from the main thoroughfares, and I slipped inside with the practiced ease of someone who'd been doing this for months.

The head cook, Greta, looked up from where she was kneading dough. Her weathered face broke into a smile when she saw me.

"Eileen! Right on time as always." Then her expression shifted to concern. "Though you look a bit pale, dear. Are you feeling alright?"

I managed what I hoped was a reassuring smile. "I'm fine, just... I was actually hoping to ask you something."

"Of course, what is it?"

I twisted my hands together, choosing my words carefully. "I've been having some trouble with strong smells lately—the meat and heavy spices in the main cooking area. Would it be possible for me to work in the bread section instead? I know Sophie's been out, and I thought maybe—"

"Say no more." Greta wiped her hands on her apron, her eyes softening with understanding that made my throat tight. She didn't ask why, didn't press for details about what might be causing my sensitivity to smells. "Sophie won't be back for another week at least. The bread section could use the help, and honestly, the work's a bit lighter too."

She studied my face with the kind of maternal concern I'd rarely experienced. "There's fresh bread in the cupboard, and some fruit tarts. You help yourself if you get hungry, understand? And if you need to sit down, you sit. No one here will think less of you for taking care of yourself."

The unexpected kindness made my eyes sting. "Thank you," I managed. "Really, thank you so much."

She patted my shoulder gently. "Go on then. The bread section's through that door. And Eileen? Don't push yourself too hard."

The bread section was a different world from the main kitchen. Instead of the overwhelming smells of roasting meat and pungent herbs, the air here was warm and yeasty, filled with the comforting scent of baking bread and the subtle sweetness of rising dough. I could breathe here without my stomach churning.

My tasks were simple enough—transferring baked loaves into baskets, wiping down the work surfaces, preparing ingredients for tomorrow's early batch. But as I worked, I noticed how much more quickly I tired than usual. My legs felt heavy, and a persistent ache had settled into my lower back. I kept going anyway, telling myself I only needed to make it until six o'clock, mentally calculating how much this shift would add to my meager savings.

By four-thirty, hunger hit me like a wave. I remembered Greta's words and found the cupboard she'd mentioned, taking out a small piece of bread and a modest slice of fruit tart. I ate quickly, almost furtively, using the back of my hand to wipe crumbs from my mouth before returning to work. The food helped, settling my stomach and giving me enough energy to push through the remaining hour and a half.

When six o'clock finally arrived, I untied my apron with trembling fingers and made my way out through the service entrance. In a quiet corner where no one would see, I pulled out my communicator and sent a message to Regis: *I've finished studying. I'll meet you at the main gate like before.*

My heart raced as I sent it. The lie tasted bitter, but I couldn't seem to stop myself. This wasn't sustainable—I knew that. Eventually he'd find out, or I'd slip up, or the deception would become too much to bear. But not today. Today I just needed to get through this one shift, collect this one payment, maintain this one small piece of independence.

I made my way toward the main gate, my bag lighter than it had been this morning but my conscience considerably heavier.

---

The evening air had turned cool, and the sky was beginning to deepen into twilight as I approached the main gate. The familiar dark carriage was already waiting in the shadows beneath an ancient oak tree, and my traitorous heart leapt at the sight of it. Regis stood beside it, tall and composed in his dark coat, and the moment he saw me his expression softened in a way that made my chest ache.

He crossed the distance between us in a few long strides. "You're here," he said, and there was relief in his voice that I didn't quite understand. His eyes searched my face with that careful attention I was beginning to recognize. "How was your afternoon?"

"It was fine," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "I got a lot done."

But even as the words left my mouth, I saw his nostrils flare slightly, that distinctive Alpha awareness I'd come to know. His brow furrowed, and he stepped closer, his head tilting just a fraction.

"You smell like bread," he said quietly, and there was something careful in his tone. "Fresh bread. And... something sweet. Like honey cakes."

My heart stopped. I'd been so careful to wash my hands, to brush off any flour from my clothes, but of course I couldn't hide from an Alpha's sense of smell. Especially not from *his* sense of smell, not when we were connected by the bond.