Mated to Her Alpha Instructor Chapter 81

Eileen

I woke before dawn, my body stiff from a fitful sleep. The house was silent except for the creak of old wood settling. I lay still, listening for any sign that my parents were awake.

Nothing.

Moving carefully, I stood and pressed my ear to the door. The furniture Mother had shoved against it—my desk chair, from the sound of it—scraped slightly when I tested the door. She'd wedged it under the handle, but not well. With some effort, I could probably force it open.

But I needed to be smart about this. Waking them would ruin everything.

Instead, I waited. Patience had always been my survival skill in this house. I used the time to splash cold water on my face from the basin in the corner, to braid my hair back with steady hands. To prepare myself for what came next.

Around six, I heard footsteps on the stairs. Mother, starting her morning routine. Soon Father would follow, and they'd be in the kitchen preparing breakfast.

That was when I'd make my move.

I waited until I heard the clatter of pots, the low murmur of their conversation. Then I carefully, slowly, pushed against my door. The chair scraped and resisted, but I angled my shoulder against the wood and shoved steadily. Inch by inch, it gave way until I could squeeze through.

The hallway was empty. Downstairs, I could hear Mother's voice instructing Father on something. I moved silently toward their room.

The door was ajar. Inside, the morning light filtered through thin curtains, illuminating the sparse furniture. There—hanging on the back of the door—was Mother's apron.

My heart hammered as I crept inside and searched the pockets. The first held nothing but a crumpled tissue. The second—

My fingers closed around the familiar weight of my communicator.

I pulled it free, clutching it to my chest for just a moment. Then I tucked it into the inner pocket of my dress where it wouldn't be easily spotted.

"Eileen!"

Mother's voice from downstairs. "Come set the table!"

I forced myself to breathe normally. "Coming!"

I slipped back into the hallway, pulling my door mostly closed behind me so they wouldn't immediately notice I'd moved the chair. Then I descended the stairs with what I hoped looked like appropriate meekness.

Father sat at the kitchen table, reading some local news sheet. Mother stood by the stove, her back to me as she stirred something that smelled of oats and bitter herbs.

"Get the bowls," she said without looking.

I did as told, moving quietly to the cabinet. But inside, my mind raced. I had my communicator back. As soon as I had a moment alone, I could message Regis. Tell him everything.

"Sit down."

Father's voice cut through my thoughts. I turned to find both of them looking at me with identical expressions of cold calculation.

Mother crossed her arms. "We need to talk about this *mark* of yours."

---

They made me sit across from them at the table, positioning me like a defendant facing judges. Father's expression was stern, carved from disapproval. Mother's was sharper—eager to dissect my shame and parade it before me.

"Your mother told me everything," Father began, his voice carrying the weight of patriarchal authority he'd always used to make me small. "You let some wolf mark you. Some *nobody* who couldn't even leave a proper scent claim."

"He's not—" I started, but Mother cut me off.

"Don't bother lying. We can smell the suppression salve. You've been hiding it." She leaned forward, eyes narrowed. "Tell us his name. Which family? Or is he such a disgrace you're ashamed to say?"

Every fiber of my being wanted to defend Regis. To throw his name in their faces and watch them scramble to recalibrate their judgments. *Regis Vane. Alpha heir. Future head of one of the oldest bloodlines. The man your daughter chose, and who chose her back.*

But I knew them too well. If they learned who Regis really was, they'd see opportunity. Mother would show up at the academy, playing the concerned parent. Father would demand meetings, try to negotiate some benefit from the connection. They'd attach themselves to him like leeches, and I would become not his bonded mate but a pawn in whatever schemes they concocted.

I wouldn't let them corrupt what Regis and I had built.

"It's none of your business," I said quietly.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Father's hand came down on the table with a crack that made me flinch despite myself. "None of our *business*? You live under our roof—"

"Do I?" The words erupted before I could stop them, twenty years of swallowed truths finally forcing their way out. "Do I *really* live here? Or do I just exist as a convenient tool you can summon when you need something?"

Mother's face flushed dark. "How dare you—"

"No." I stood, my chair scraping loudly against the floor. My hands trembled but I made them into fists, anchoring myself. "How dare *you*. Both of you."

Father rose as well, trying to use his height to intimidate me back down. It had always worked before. But I'd stood before an Alpha—a real one, not a posturing father—and learned what true strength looked like. It wasn't this small, petty tyranny.

"I've financially supported myself since I was sixteen," I said, my voice shaking but growing stronger with each word. "Every coin for tuition, books, supplies—I earned it through scholarships and work. You've given me *nothing* except demands."

"We gave you a home—" Mother started.

"You gave me a *prison*." I turned to her, years of resentment crystallizing into clarity. "From the time I could walk, you made it clear I was worth less than Gareth. He got new clothes while I wore hand-me-downs from neighbors. He got second helpings while I learned to eat only what was left. When he broke something, it was 'boys will be boys.' When I asked questions, it was 'don't make trouble.'"

"We were preparing you for life," Father said, but he sounded less certain now. "Teaching you proper behavior—"

"You were teaching me I didn't matter!" The shout came from somewhere deep, a place I'd kept locked and silent for two decades. "That my only value was in being quiet and useful and never, ever asking for anything."

Tears streamed down my face but I didn't wipe them away. Let them see. Let them see exactly what their "parenting" had done.

"Do you know what you said when I got accepted into the advanced academy?" I looked between them, watching them shift uncomfortably. "Nothing. You said *nothing*. No congratulations, no pride. The first words out of your mouth, Mother, were 'I suppose you'll expect us to pay for it.'"

"We didn't have money to spare—"

"I didn't *ask* for money!" My voice cracked. "I never asked you for anything! I just wanted... I just wanted you to *care*. To see me as your daughter instead of an obligation."

Mother's expression hardened back into familiar coldness. "This is exactly the kind of dramatic nonsense I'd expect from you. We sacrificed—"

"You sacrificed *nothing*." The truth of it settled over me like armor. "You had a daughter and decided she wasn't worth your love because she couldn't shift. And now you want to control who marks me, who bonds with me, because you've convinced yourselves you have any right to my choices."

"As long as you're part of this family—" Father began.

"I'm not." The words came out steady and final. "I haven't been for a long time. I just didn't want to admit it."

I pulled my communicator from my pocket, holding it up. "This? You took it thinking you could isolate me. Control me like you always have." I met Mother's gaze. "But the bond between me and my mate doesn't need technology. It's written into our souls. And he's already felt my distress. He's probably already on his way."

Father scoffed. "This mysterious mate who—"

The sound of wheels on the road outside cut him off. Heavy wheels, well-made—nothing like the cart our neighbors used. We all turned toward the window as the sound stopped directly in front of our house.

Car doors. Footsteps.

Then a knock—firm and authoritative—on our door.

Through the bond, I felt him. Cedar and mint and moonlight, wrapped in barely leashed fury. My knees nearly buckled with relief.

*Regis.*

Father moved toward the door, but I beat him to it. My hands shook as I grasped the handle. Behind me, I heard Mother's sharp intake of breath, Father's demand that I wait.

I opened the door.

Regis stood on the threshold, backlit by the rising sun. His eyes found mine immediately, ice-blue intensifying as he took in my tears, my obvious distress. Behind him, Kieran waited by the carriage, alert and ready.

For a moment, no one spoke. Then Regis's gaze swept past me to my parents, and when he spoke, his voice carried a command that needed no shouting.

"I am Regis Vane," he said. "Eileen's mate. And I'm here to bring her home."