Mated to Her Alpha Instructor Chapter 71

Eileen

The library smelled of old parchment, dust motes dancing in the thin beam of moonlight that filtered through the high windows. I'd been here for hours, cross-referencing the plague chronicle against Professor Ward's field notes, my fingers cramped from copying formulas and my eyes burning from squinting at faded ink.

But I'd done it.

The formula sat finished on the workbench before me. According to the chronicle, it had to be prepared during the two days leading up to the full moon, as lunar energy surged toward its peak. Now, with less than twenty-four hours remaining, the final window was closing fast.

I checked the proportions one final time, my heart hammering. The recipe warned that dosage errors could trigger violent reactions in the patient, but it was explicit: without treatment, the parasitic infection would consume its host within days.

Marcus had maybe three days left.

My hands trembled slightly as I sealed the preparation jar. This could work. It had to work. Not just for the warriors, but for every soul counting on me to prove I belonged here—that a wolfless healer could stand among them and contribute something real.

Through the bond, I felt Regis's steady presence like an anchor. Even across campus his calm confidence reached me. I let it settle my racing pulse before sending a message to him.

[I did it. I found the cure.]

The response came immediately, warm and fierce. [Of course you did, little wolf. I never doubted.]

My throat tightened. Two weeks ago, I would've been terrified to claim such confidence. Now, wrapped in his absolute faith, I let myself believe.

[Will you... could you come see? When the testing happens?] I bit my lip, suddenly uncertain. [I know you're busy, but I wanted—]

[I want to be there.] His mental voice was firm, brooking no argument. [I'll arrange it. When?]

[Tomorrow afternoon. Professor Ward approved the first trial on Marcus.]

A pause, then: [I'll be there. You're going to be magnificent.]

I smiled despite my nerves, tucking the formula carefully into my satchel. Tomorrow would prove everything. I had someone who believed I could do this.

That had to be enough.

---

The next morning dawned cold and gray, matching the knot of anxiety in my stomach. I'd barely slept, running through every possible complication until Regis had finally pulled me against his chest and growled softly that I was forbidden from catastrophizing past midnight.

Now, standing outside Professor Ward's office with my carefully sealed jar, I felt that same spiral of worst-case scenarios threatening to drag me under.

"Miss Wylde." Ward looked up from her notes, her sharp eyes assessing. "You're certain about this formula's reliability? The chronicle is three centuries old."

"The infection pattern matches exactly, Professor." I kept my voice steady despite my hammering pulse. "Monthly cycle tied to lunar phases, resistance to standard treatments, the characteristic odor—it all aligns. And the warriors are running out of time."

"Marcus specifically has seventy-two hours at most," she said bluntly. "If this treatment fails—"

"I know the risks." I met her gaze. "But he'll die anyway without intervention. At least this gives him a chance."

She studied me for a long moment, then nodded slowly. "Very well. You have authorization to proceed with supervised testing. But Miss Wylde—this is your responsibility. If there are adverse effects..."

"I accept full responsibility, Professor."

The words felt heavy leaving my mouth, but they were true. I'd chosen this path. Whatever came next was mine to own.

---

The healing ward buzzed with tension when I arrived that afternoon. Word had spread about the experimental treatment, and what seemed like half the combat division had crammed into the observation area. Through the glass partition, I could see Marcus's gaunt face, his breathing shallow, the blackened infection spreading like roots up his arm.

My stomach churned, but I forced myself forward.

Mira squeezed my hand once before I entered the treatment room, her grip fierce with encouragement. "You've got this. Remember—you saved an Alpha. You can save them too."

I nodded, not trusting my voice, and pushed through the door.

Through the bond, I felt Regis approaching—his presence like a warm tide washing over my frayed nerves. He must have rearranged his training schedule to be here. The knowledge steadied something fundamental in my chest.

Marcus's eyes cracked open as I approached his bedside, recognition flickering across his pain-dulled features. He'd been one of the warriors most vocal about doubting a wolfless healer. Now, watching me kneel beside him with trembling hands, he managed a weak grimace.

"Come to experiment on me, little scholar?"

"Only if you'll let me." I kept my tone gentle, opening the jar to reveal the silvery paste. "This is based on a treatment used three hundred years ago for a similar parasitic infection. I won't lie—there's no documented record of side effects because the plague ended before extensive trials. But without treatment, you have maybe three days left. This might give you more."

He stared at the preparation, then at me. Through the window, I was acutely aware of the watching crowd—Derek and Celeste lurking in one corner, their expressions openly skeptical.

I remembered what Derek had said in the library, and the memory twisted my stomach with disgust. I refused to let my gaze linger on him for even a second. And the last thing I needed was to tempt Regis into tearing him apart.

Other warriors pressed close to the glass, faces tight with worry for their packmate. This also made me a bit nervous.

"Will it hurt?" Marcus asked quietly.

"I don't know," I admitted. "Probably. The formula has to actively combat the parasitic organisms, and they're deeply embedded in your tissue. But I'll be right here the entire time. If it becomes unbearable, we stop immediately."

Another pause. Then, with effort: "Do it."

My hands shook slightly as I scooped out the first measure of paste. The moment it touched the blackened skin at the edge of his wound, Marcus's entire body went rigid, a strangled groan escaping through clenched teeth.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," I whispered, working as quickly as I dared to spread the treatment across the infected area. Under my fingers, I could feel something writhing in his flesh—the parasites resisting, dying. The sensation made bile rise in my throat, but I forced myself to continue, covering every inch of visible infection.

When I finally pulled back, Marcus was gasping, sweat beading his forehead. I grabbed a cloth to wipe his face, my voice low and urgent.

"You're doing so well. The worst part is over. Now we wait and see if it works."

His only response was a tight nod, eyes squeezed shut against residual pain.

I settled onto the floor beside his bed, hugging my knees to my chest as I watched his vital signs on the monitoring crystal overhead. Three hours until we'd know if the treatment was taking effect—three hours that would determine whether I'd just saved him or hastened his death.

Through the window, the crowd remained. Waiting. Judging. And somewhere beyond them, I knew Regis was there too. Always watching, always steady. But he couldn’t take my hand, not here. It would draw too much attention to us, and right now, all eyes needed to stay on Marcus.

Please work, I thought desperately. Please, please work.

Time crawled. I kept my eyes fixed on my pocket watch, counting each minute like a prayer. Mira had brought me water and a roll I couldn't stomach. Other healers checked Marcus's vitals periodically, their expressions carefully neutral.

At the two-hour mark, Celeste's voice carried clearly through the glass: "When the wound rots through, she'll be a murderer."

Mira started to rise, fury in her eyes, but I caught her wrist. "Don't. Results will speak louder than anything we say."

She subsided, though her glare could've melted steel.

At hour three, I forced myself to stand and approach Marcus's bedside again.