Mated to Her Alpha Instructor Chapter 40

Eileen

"Honey-glazed roast it is." His eyes softened, and he leaned forward to press a brief, gentle kiss to my forehead—a gesture so natural and affectionate it stole my breath. "Your cravings aren't demands, Eileen. They're your body telling you what it needs. Never apologize for that. Now rest. I'll wake you when it's ready."

He started to rise, but I caught his sleeve without thinking. "That dish takes hours to make. You don't have to go to so much trouble just because I—"

"I want to." The simple certainty in his voice left no room for argument. He covered my hand with his, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Your body needs extra nutrition right now. I realize I've been preparing meals based on what I thought was good for you, but I should have been paying attention to what you were actually craving." He stood, looking down at me with an expression I couldn't quite read—something warm and protective and achingly tender. "Rest now. Read if you'd like, but try to actually relax. And Eileen?" He waited until I met his eyes. "Next time you feel dizzy, you tell me immediately. Understood?"

"Understood," I whispered.

Then he was gone, closing the door quietly behind him, and I was left alone with the racing of my heart and the warmth of where his lips had touched my forehead.

I reached for the herbal medicine book on my nightstand, trying to focus on the words, but my mind kept wandering. I could hear him moving around downstairs—the sound of the cold storage opening, the clink of pots and pans, the rhythmic thud of a knife against a cutting board. Each sound was a reminder that he was down there, preparing an elaborate meal just because I'd mentioned wanting it.

Time passed in a strange blur. I must have dozed at some point, because I woke to the smell of honey and roasting meat wafting up from the kitchen, rich and savory and exactly what my body had been craving. I glanced at the small clock on the nightstand and felt my stomach drop. Only forty minutes had passed.

That was impossible. The dish I'd requested should have taken at least ninety minutes, probably closer to two hours. Had he made something else instead? But no, that smell was unmistakable—the sweet char of honey caramelizing, the earthy scent of root vegetables roasted with herbs.

A soft knock at the door made me sit up quickly, smoothing down my hair. "Come in."

Regis entered carrying a tray, and the sight of it made my eyes widen. There, arranged with careful precision, was exactly what I'd asked for—roast meat glistening with honey glaze, the surface caramelized to perfection. Root vegetables surrounded it, their edges golden-brown, and beside the plate sat a small bowl of clear herbal broth that smelled faintly of ginger and mint.

"You... you actually made it." My voice came out barely above a whisper. "How did you—it should have taken—"

"I may have implied that I'm not much of a cook," he said, setting the tray carefully across my lap after helping me arrange the pillows behind my back. There was something almost sheepish in his expression, a hint of color along his high cheekbones. "The truth is, I've had a lot of practice. There was a period in my life when everything was training, patrols, combat drills—the same routine day after day. I felt more like a weapon than a person." He sat on the edge of the bed, his weight making the mattress dip slightly toward him. "An elder suggested I find something else to focus on, something that had nothing to do with fighting. So I learned to cook."

I stared at the food, then at him, then back at the food. The honey glaze caught the lamplight, and I could see the care that had gone into every element of the dish. My eyes burned with sudden tears, and I had to blink rapidly to keep them from falling.

"Hey." His hand found mine, warm and steady. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong." I managed a watery laugh. "It's just... no one's ever..." I couldn't finish the sentence, couldn't articulate the tangle of emotions in my chest. In my family, asking for anything had always been met with resentment. The idea that someone would not only fulfill my request but do it with such care, such attention to detail...

"Eat," he said softly, squeezing my hand before releasing it. "Before it gets cold."

I picked up the fork with trembling fingers and cut into the meat. It was perfect—tender enough to fall apart at the slightest pressure, the honey glaze providing just the right balance of sweet and savory. The root vegetables were seasoned with herbs I recognized from my studies—thyme for its calming properties, rosemary for circulation, a hint of sage that was supposed to help with nausea.

He'd thought of everything.

"This is incredible," I whispered after the first bite, and then I couldn't stop eating. The food seemed to fill some hollow place inside me I hadn't even realized was empty, and I was vaguely aware of Regis watching me with an expression of quiet satisfaction.

"I'm glad you like it." His voice was warm, pleased. "You needed to eat properly. I could feel through the bond how depleted you were."

I paused mid-bite, suddenly self-conscious about how quickly I was eating, but he just smiled and gestured for me to continue. When I finally set down my fork, the plate nearly empty, I felt more satisfied than I had in days. The dizziness from earlier had completely faded, replaced by a pleasant warmth in my stomach.

"Thank you," I said, meaning it with every fiber of my being.

"You don't need to thank me for taking care of you." He stood to take the tray, but paused, his expression growing more serious. "There's something I need to tell you about tomorrow. I have to oversee the border patrol shift arrangements in the afternoon—it's a routine inspection, but it means I'll be back later than usual. Probably not until evening."

My heart sank a little, though I tried not to let it show. "That's fine. I understand. Your duties are important."

"I've arranged for meals to be delivered here," he continued, watching my face carefully. "They'll arrive at your usual times. And the carriage driver will be waiting at the Academy gates after your last class to bring you straight home." He hesitated, then added, "If you'd prefer company, you could invite Mira to come back with you for the afternoon. I know you've been missing spending time with her."

The thoughtfulness of the offer made my throat tight. He'd noticed that, too—how much I missed the easy companionship of my friend, the casual conversations we used to have in our shared room.

"You really don't need to worry so much," I said softly. "I'll just come straight home and rest. I'll be perfectly fine for a few hours on my own."

"I know you will be." His hand came up to cup my cheek, his thumb brushing gently across my cheekbone. "But that doesn't mean I won't worry. Especially after today." His eyes searched mine. "Promise me you won't push yourself. If you're tired, you rest. If you're hungry, you eat. And if anything feels wrong—anything at all—you contact me immediately. I don't care if I'm in the middle of inspecting the entire border. Understood?"

The intensity in his gaze, the genuine concern I could feel thrumming through the bond, made it impossible to do anything but nod. "I promise."

"Good." He leaned down and pressed another kiss to my forehead, this one lingering just a moment longer than the first. "Get some sleep. I'll be just down the hall if you need anything."

After he left, I lay back against the pillows, one hand drifting to my stomach where a small, firm swell was just beginning to show. The baby was still so small, but already changing everything about my life. Already teaching me that maybe, just maybe, I deserved to be cared for.

Through the bond, I could feel Regis downstairs, the steady rhythm of his movements as he cleaned the kitchen. The sensation was comforting, grounding. Tomorrow he would be gone for the afternoon, busy with his duties, and I would be here alone. The thought should have made me anxious, but instead I felt... safe. Because even when he wasn't physically present, I could still feel him through the bond, still know that he was thinking of me, worrying about me, caring about me in a way no one ever had before.

"We're going to be okay," I whispered to the life growing inside me, my voice barely audible in the quiet room. "He's... he's really trying. And so am I."

The thought made me smile as I finally let myself drift toward sleep, wrapped in the warmth of his scent and the knowledge that, for now at least, I was exactly where I needed to be.