Mated to Her Alpha Instructor Chapter 83

Regis

"However," I continued, and the word made them freeze, "this payment comes with conditions. Non-negotiable conditions."

"What conditions?" Brennan's voice was hoarse, gaze locked on the pouch.

I let the pause stretch, let their greed build. Then I spoke with the precision of someone laying out a legal contract.

"From this moment forward, you will have no claim on Eileen Wylde. You will not contact her, demand her time, her labor, or her emotional energy. You will not use your relationship to manipulate or control her." I paused. "In exchange for this payment, you are severing all parental rights. Permanently."

Lydia went pale. "You're asking us to give up our daughter?"

"I'm offering compensation for something you've already done," I corrected coldly. "You gave up any right to call yourselves her parents years ago. I'm simply making it official. And profitable."

Through the bond, I felt Eileen's complex emotions—hurt that her worth could be reduced to money, but also desperate hope that this might work, that she might finally be free.

"That seems extreme," Brennan managed.

"Does it? Tell me, Mr. Wylde—how many times this past year have you told Eileen you loved her? Celebrated her accomplishments?"

His silence was damning.

"This payment," I said, tapping the pouch, "is more than fair for twenty years of unpaid labor and emotional damage. But it requires a blood oath, sworn on the Moon Goddess, that you will never interfere in Eileen's life again."

"A blood oath?" Lydia's voice barely whispered. Blood oaths were sacred, unbreakable. To violate one meant losing wolf form, exile, sometimes death.

"A blood oath," I confirmed. "Witnessed and recorded. Break it, and you lose everything—your wolf, your place in the community, your very identity as shifters."

"And if we refuse?" Brennan asked, though his voice lacked conviction.

"Then you get nothing. And I will use every resource at my disposal to ensure your treatment of Eileen becomes public knowledge. I'll make certain everyone knows exactly how you isolated a frightened young woman, confiscated her communicator, tried to control her through intimidation."

I leaned forward slightly, letting my presence intensify enough to make them step back.

"I'll ensure that your family's reputation—already struggling given Gareth's incident with the Thornridge family—becomes utterly unsalvageable. You'll find no one willing to help you."

It was brutal, and I could see in their faces they knew I had both means and will to carry it out.

"So." I straightened. "Take the payment, swear the oath, and walk away wealthy enough to secure Gareth's future. Or refuse, and face consequences."

Brennan and Lydia exchanged a long look. I watched greed win over whatever tattered remains of parental feeling might have existed.

"We'll do it," Lydia finally said, voice tight. "We'll swear the oath."

Brennan nodded, unable to meet anyone's eyes. "For Gareth's future."

Not "for our daughter's happiness." But for money. For the son they valued.

"Very well." I pulled out a small silver knife and formal parchment I'd had prepared. "Then let's make it official."

---

The oath-taking was brief but binding. I had them kneel, right hand over heart, left palm up to catch the blood.

"I swear by the Moon Goddess," Brennan's voice was hollow, "that from this day forward, I claim no rights over Eileen Wylde. I will not seek her out, contact her, or interfere in her life. I sever all parental bonds and accept she is no longer my daughter."

Lydia's oath followed. As each pricked their palm and let three drops of blood fall onto the parchment, I felt ancient magic seal into place, binding them to their words.

The parchment glowed faintly silver before the light faded, leaving their bloody handprints as permanent evidence.

"It's done," I said, rolling it carefully. "Kieran Blackwood will serve as witness. The document will be filed with both the Academy Board and Vane family archives. Any violation will be prosecuted immediately."

I pushed the pouch toward them. Brennan's hands shook as he picked it up, testing the weight.

"You got what you wanted," I said, voice devoid of warmth. "More money than you ever gave Eileen in her entire life. I hope it brings comfort when you remember you sold your daughter for it."

Lydia went white but didn't protest. Couldn't, when the truth was so baldly stated.

I turned to Eileen. "Let's go home, love. There's nothing left for you here."

She nodded wordlessly, and I guided her toward the door. As we stepped across the threshold for the last time, I glanced back.

They were already hunched over the pouch, dividing coins with greedy hands, already forgetting the daughter they'd forfeited.

Good. Let them have their gold. Eileen deserved so much better.

Outside, morning sun was gentle and warm, stark contrast to the cold wasteland we were leaving. Kieran waited by the carriage, expression carefully neutral.

"It's handled," I told him quietly. "Take us home."

As I handed Eileen up, I felt her finally break—a small, choked sob she tried to muffle. The moment the door closed, I pulled her into my lap, wrapping my arms around her.

"I'm sorry," she whispered against my chest. "I'm so sorry—"

"Shh." I pressed my lips to her hair. "You have nothing to apologize for. Nothing. What happened was their failure, not yours."

"They didn't even hesitate. Five hundred gold marks, and I was just... gone."

"You matter," I said fiercely, tilting her face up. "You matter more than anything. Their inability to see your worth doesn't diminish it. It only diminishes them."

Through the bond, I poured every ounce of love and certainty, letting her feel the absolute truth. She was precious. Valued. Loved beyond measure.

"I wanted..." She swallowed hard. "Some part of me kept hoping that maybe, someday, they'd choose me."

"You are enough," I told her, cradling her face. "You've always been enough. They were the ones who weren't enough to be your parents."

She broke then—truly broke—sobbing with the kind of grief that only comes from finally acknowledging a loss that's festered for years. I held her through it, murmuring reassurances, letting her cry out twenty years of accumulated hurt.

The carriage rolled away from that house, carrying us toward something better. Toward home, toward family built on choice and love rather than obligation and blood.

As her sobs quieted, I felt her relax against me, exhausted but somehow lighter. Freer.

"Thank you," she whispered finally. "For coming for me. For everything."

I kissed her forehead, her temple, the track of tears on her cheek. "Always," I promised. "I will always come for you. You're mine, Eileen. Mine to protect, mine to cherish. And no one will ever make you feel worthless again."

Through the bond, I felt her accept that promise, felt it settle into her heart alongside the slowly healing wounds.

We had a long road ahead—healing didn't happen overnight. But we'd walk that road together.

And she'd never have to walk alone again.