Mated to Her Alpha Instructor Chapter 45

Eileen

The path through the eastern woods was peaceful, dappled with late afternoon sunlight filtering through amber leaves. My footsteps found an easy rhythm on the packed earth, and for the first time in days, I felt almost normal—strong enough to walk on my own, to move through the world without needing someone to catch me if I stumbled.

I rested one hand on my still-flat stomach, humming softly. "We're going to be fine," I whispered to the tiny life inside me. "Just you and me for a little while. Then we'll be home."

The woods grew quieter as I walked deeper into the tree-lined corridor. The cheerful voices of other students faded behind me, replaced by the peaceful rustle of wind through branches. I didn't notice when the shadows lengthened, or when the last group of laughing classmates disappeared around a bend in the path ahead.

I was still humming when a figure stepped out from behind a thick oak, blocking my way forward.

My heart stuttered. I stopped mid-step, every instinct suddenly screaming danger.

"Eileen Wylde," he said, his voice smooth and cold. "What a coincidence, running into you here."

He was tall with sharp features and pale eyes that reminded me of ice over deep water. His stance was casual, hands in his pockets, but something about the way he watched me made my skin crawl.

"I—" My voice came out smaller than I intended. "Excuse me. I need to get past."

I tried to step around him, but he moved with me, still blocking the path. His smile didn't reach his eyes. "No need to rush off. I've been meaning to have a word with you."

The woods felt too quiet now. Too empty. I glanced back the way I'd come, but the path curved behind trees, and I couldn't see anyone. My pulse hammered in my throat.

"I don't know you. And I really should—"

"Sophia told me what happened," he interrupted, his tone hardening. "How you got her fired. Took her position at the kitchens like you had any right to it."

My stomach dropped. Sophia. He's her boyfriend, Andrew Blackwell. Of course.

"That's not—she was the one who—" I stammered, trying to explain, but the words tangled in my throat. The old instinct to apologize, to smooth things over, rose up like a reflex. "I didn't mean for her to lose her job. I'm sorry if—"

"Sorry?" His laugh was sharp and humorless. He took a step closer, and I took one back, my spine hitting the rough bark of a tree. "You think 'sorry' fixes anything? She needed that position. And you, a wolfless waste who can barely hold a tray, think you deserve it more than her?"

The familiar words hit like a physical blow. *Wolfless waste.* How many times had I heard variations of that phrase? From my mother, from strangers, from the quiet whispers that followed me through campus.

"I just needed the work," I said quietly, hating how my voice shook. "I wasn't trying to take anything from her."

"Weren't you?" He moved closer again, forcing me to press harder against the tree. His eyes raked over me with something that made my skin crawl. "Sophia says you're always acting so meek and helpless, playing the victim so people feel sorry for you. Is that your strategy? Manipulate your way into positions you don't deserve?"

"No, I—that's not true—" My hands were trembling now. I wanted to run, but he was blocking the only clear path, and my legs felt weak.

Then his expression shifted. He went very still, his nostrils flaring slightly as he breathed in. His pale eyes widened, then narrowed with something that made ice flood my veins.

"Wait." His voice dropped, taking on a different quality—something predatory and interested. "What's that smell?"

Panic seized me. The sweet honey-apple scent that had been growing stronger these past weeks, the one Mira had noticed, the one I'd been trying so hard to mask—

"You're *pregnant*," Andrew said, and the way he said it made bile rise in my throat. His lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile. "Well, well. The pure little wolfless girl isn't so innocent after all, is she?"

"Please," I whispered, my voice barely audible. "Let me pass."

But he wasn't listening anymore. He stepped even closer, close enough that I could smell the sharp scent of pine and something acrid underneath. "How many wolves have you spread your legs for, I wonder? Must be quite a few, if you're this careless about it."

The words hit like slaps. Shame burned through me—not because they were true, but because they echoed every terrible thing I'd ever thought about myself in my darkest moments.

"That's not—I didn't—" I tried to push past him, but he caught my wrist, his grip iron-tight.

"Where do you think you're going?" His other hand came up, fingers reaching for my face. "If you're already carrying some bastard's pup, what's the harm in—"

"*You must have your own fangs, Eileen.*"

The voice cut through my panic like a blade of moonlight—clear and commanding, though I couldn't tell if it came from inside my head or somewhere beyond. My eyes flew open wide, every nerve suddenly alive.

Andrew's fingers were inches from my cheek, his expression twisted with ugly intent. But the voice—that strange, fierce voice—had jolted something awake in me.