Mated to Her Alpha Instructor Chapter 77

Eileen

The dream came soft as moonlight.

I stood in a clearing I'd never seen before, silver mist curling around my bare feet, and there she was—a massive white wolf, her coat gleaming like fresh snow under an invisible moon. Her eyes, impossibly kind and impossibly sad, held mine as she padded closer, each step deliberate, her presence filling the space between us with something that felt like recognition, like coming home to a place I'd never been.

I wanted to reach for her, wanted to close the distance and bury my hands in that luminous fur, but my legs wouldn't obey. She kept walking, and the longing in my chest grew so sharp it hurt. Just as her muzzle was close enough to touch, I stumbled forward—and the ground gave way beneath me. I fell, arms flailing, and when I looked up she was gone.

I jolted awake with a gasp.

"Easy." Regis's voice, warm and rough with sleep, anchored me immediately. His arm tightened around my waist. "You're safe. I've got you."

I pressed my palm over my racing heart. The dream was already fading, but the feeling lingered—that strange, piercing sense of having lost something I'd never had.

"Just a dream," I murmured.

"What kind of dream?" His lips brushed my temple.

"A white wolf. She was beautiful. Sad. I tried to go to her, but I fell, and she disappeared."

His chest rose and fell against my back. "Dreams can be powerful things for our kind. Sometimes they're just dreams. Sometimes they're messengers." He paused. "But that's old lore."

I wanted to press, but something in his tone told me he wouldn't say more. Instead, I tucked my head under his chin, breathing in his scent.

*I wanted to have a wolf once,* I thought. *Wanted it so badly it hurt.* But that desperation had dulled now. *Maybe I don't need one to matter. Maybe I can be enough as I am.*

The thought should have felt like surrender. Instead, it felt like peace.

"Come on," Regis murmured, pressing a kiss to my hair. "Let's get you fed before class."

---

I attended my classes as usual, newly aware of how much I still had to learn. Yesterday's success had only revealed how vast the healing arts truly were.

I was reading about how different ways of applying medicine affect wound healing when the knock came.

Professor Calloway paused mid-sentence. "Come in."

A younger student poked his head in. "Sorry to interrupt, Professor. There's someone here for Eileen Wylde."

Every head swiveled toward me. My stomach dropped.

"For me?"

He nodded. "She's waiting outside the main hall. Said it's urgent."

Professor Calloway's gaze flicked to me. "Go ahead, Miss Wylde."

I gathered my things with numb fingers, hyper-aware of eyes following me. Mira shot me a concerned look, but I could only manage a quick shrug.

Then I saw her.

Mother stood just inside the entrance, arms crossed, foot tapping impatiently. She looked exactly as she always did—severe features, graying hair pulled back in a tight bun, lines around her mouth carved deep from years of pursed disapproval. But there was something frantic in her posture now.

"There you are." She closed the distance in three sharp strides, her hand clamping around my upper arm with bruising force. "We need to go. Now."

"Mother—what—"

"Your brother." Her voice was low and urgent. "Gareth was in a fight. He's hurt badly. We need you to come home and look after him."

The words hit like a slap. "Hurt? Have you taken him to the healing ward—"

"We can't afford the ward. And you don't need to know the details." Impatience edged her voice. "You're a healer. You'll take care of him."

"I'm a student, Mother. I'm not qualified—"

"Don't be difficult." Her nails dug into my arm. "He's your brother. You'll come home and do your duty instead of hiding away here."

*Playing at being important,* her tone implied. As if the silver badge pinned to my collar meant nothing.

"I have classes," I said, hating how weak my voice sounded. "Research—"

"Your brother is *dying.*" She yanked me toward the door. "Whatever projects you've got going can wait. Family comes first."

People were staring. Mother didn't slow down, just dragged me into the courtyard.

"Wait." I finally planted my feet, wrenching my arm free. "I'm not going."

Her eyes went wide with outrage. "Excuse me?"

"I'm not going. Gareth got himself hurt. You and Father can take care of him."

"We *are* taking care of him—we're his parents. But we also have to work, have to earn money to keep food on the table." The implication hung heavy: *You should be the one to sacrifice.* "Or do you think that happens by magic?"

"I have responsibilities—"

"Responsibilities?" She spat the word. "We're your *family,* Eileen." Her gaze dropped to my collar, and her expression changed. "What's this?"

Her fingers closed around the silver badge before I could stop her.

"Don't—"

She ripped it free with a sharp yank. I gasped as she held it up, studying the engraved emblem—the crossed healing branches that marked advanced honors.

"Well, well." Her voice dripped contempt. "Quite the fancy decoration they've given you. Must think you're very special." She turned it over in her fingers. "I wonder what they'd say if they knew the truth about you. About what kind of daughter abandons her family when they need her most."

"Give it back."

"I will." Her smile was cold. "When you come home and take care of your brother like a decent person would. If you refuse, if you abandon your family, then everyone here is going to know exactly what kind of person you really are." She pocketed the badge. "Someone who doesn't deserve honors like this in the first place."

The threat landed like a physical blow. I could already see it—the whispers spreading through the academy, the looks of disappointment, the quiet withdrawal of respect I'd only just begun to earn.

"How long?" I heard myself ask.

"Just until he's recovered. A week, perhaps two." She said it like it was nothing. "You can catch up afterward."

*A week. Two weeks.* Time I didn't have, not with the classes every day. But what choice did I have?

"Fine," I whispered.

"Good." She was already turning toward the gates. "We'll leave now."

I managed to pull out my communicator long enough to send Regis a message: [Something came up with family. Have to go home for a bit. I'll explain later.]

His response came almost immediately: [Are you all right? Do you need me?]

I stared at the words, my thumb hovering over the screen. If I told him the truth, he’d come. He’d see everything—the shouting, the manipulation, the way they could twist me into compliance with just a few sentences. And once he saw that, he’d never look at me the same way again.

[I'm fine,] I typed back, the lie sour in my mouth. Better he think it was nothing than drag him into the ugliness I'd spent years trying to keep separate from the life I’d built here.

[Just family stuff. I'll message you tonight.]