Mated to Her Alpha Instructor Chapter 46

Eileen

My hand was already moving, diving into my coat pocket where the small defense kit from combat class still sat. My fingers closed around the smooth metal canister just as Andrew's other hand reached for my shoulder.

I didn't think. I just acted.

The deterrent spray hit him square in the face. He jerked back with a strangled shout, releasing my wrist as his hands flew up to his eyes. The acrid chemical scent filled the air as he stumbled, coughing and cursing.

"You *bitch*—"

I didn't wait to hear the rest. I shoved past him and ran.

My feet pounded against the packed earth, my breath coming in ragged gasps. Behind me, I could hear Andrew's furious shouts, the sound of him crashing through undergrowth.

"You'll regret this!" His voice followed me through the trees, raw with rage. "I'll make you pay for that, you worthless—"

I didn't look back. I just ran, my bag bouncing against my hip, my heart hammering so hard I thought it might burst. The path blurred around me as tears streamed down my face—not from sadness, but from pure, animal terror.

By the time I burst out of the woods into the open grounds near the house, my lungs were burning and my legs were shaking so badly I could barely stand. I leaned against the stone wall of the nearest building, gasping for air, my whole body trembling.

People passed by. A few slowed, casting quick, uncertain glances in my direction—like they weren’t sure if they should say something, or just keep walking.

*Don't draw attention. Don't make a scene.*

The old rules whispered through my mind even as my hands shook and my stomach churned with nausea that had nothing to do with pregnancy.

I made it back to my room somehow, though I couldn't remember the walk. The moment the door closed behind me, my legs gave out. I slid down to sit on the floor, my back against the wood, and wrapped my arms around my knees.

The trembling wouldn't stop. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Andrew's face, heard his words. *Wolfless waste. Spread your legs. Bastard's pup.*

My communicator buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out with shaking hands and saw Regis's name on the screen.

[The driver said you walked home. Are you back safely?]

I stared at the message, my throat tight. I should tell him. I should tell him what happened, what Andrew said, what he almost—

But the memory of my mother's voice cut through the panic: *Don't make trouble. Don't cause problems. It's your own fault for being where you shouldn't be.*

And beneath that, a newer fear: what if Regis thought I'd been careless? What if he blamed me for walking alone, for putting myself—putting our child—at risk?

My fingers moved across the screen before I could stop them: [Yes, I'm home. Safe.]

Another message came almost immediately: [Good. I'm dealing with an injury in my unit—one of the fighters got hurt. I'll be here through the night. Will you be all right?]

Relief and disappointment tangled in my chest. Part of me desperately wanted him here, wanted his solid presence and the safety of his arms. But another part—the part that had learned to survive by staying small and quiet—whispered that this was better. That I could handle this on my own. That I didn't need to burden him.

[I'll be fine,] I typed back. [Take care of your fighter.]

I set the communicator aside and drew my knees tighter to my chest, resting my forehead against them. My hand found my stomach, pressing gently against the place where our child grew.

"We're okay," I whispered, though I wasn't sure if I was trying to convince the baby or myself. "We're safe now. It's over."

But even as I said it, I knew it wasn't true. Andrew's threat echoed in my mind: *You'll regret this. I'll make you pay.*

I curled tighter into myself, alone in the dark room, and tried to stop shaking.

---

Morning came too soon. I'd barely slept, jerking awake at every small sound, my heart racing with remembered fear. When I finally dragged myself out of bed, my reflection in the mirror showed dark circles under my eyes and skin too pale.

I couldn't skip class. Missing would raise questions, and questions would lead to explanations I wasn't ready to give. So I dressed, smoothing on the herbal balm that hid the sweetness clinging to my skin, and went through all the motions of being fine.

Healing theory passed in a blur. I sat in my usual spot, took notes I wouldn't remember, and tried not to flinch every time someone walked past. Mira kept shooting me concerned glances, but I avoided her eyes.

"Eileen." She cornered me after class, her voice low and worried. "What's wrong? And don't say 'nothing'—I can smell the stress on you."

"I'm just tired," I said, which wasn't entirely a lie. "Didn't sleep well."

"Is it the baby? Are you feeling sick again?"

"No, I'm—" I started to say I was fine, but the words stuck in my throat.

Before I could force them out, the classroom door opened and one of the academy assistants stepped in. Her eyes scanned the room and landed on me.

"Miss Wylde," she called out, her voice carrying an edge of urgency that made my stomach drop. "Elder Thomas Blackwell requests your immediate presence in his office."

The room went silent. Every head turned toward me. I felt the weight of their stares, heard the whispers starting.

Mira's hand found mine under the desk, squeezing tight. "Eileen—"

But I was already standing, my legs moving on autopilot even as dread pooled in my stomach like ice water.

Elder Thomas Blackwell. Andrew's father.

Of course.

"I'll be fine," I told Mira, though my voice sounded hollow even to my own ears.

I followed the assistant out of the classroom, down the familiar corridors toward the administrative wing. With each step, the walls seemed to close in tighter, the air growing thinner.