Mated to Her Alpha Instructor (Eileen and Regis) novel Chapter 117

Regis

The bathwater had gone lukewarm by the time Eileen’s tears finally dried, leaving her eyes swollen and red–rimmed but somehow clearer than before–as though the storm of grief had scoured away years of accumulated pain, exposing raw but honest ground beneath. I dried her carefully with a soft towel, noting how she leaned into my touch despite her exhaustion, and when I lifted her from the tub she didn’t protest, merely tucked her face against my neck with a shuddering exhale that spoke of surrender not to me but to the simple necessity of being cared for.

I carried her to our bedroom and laid her gently on the bed, the late afternoon light slanting golden through the windows. She lay passive as I wrapped the towel more securely around her, but through our bond I felt the fragile tentacles of awareness beginning to stir again–no longer the acute anguish of the carriage ride, but something quieter and more uncertain.

“Stay,” she whispered when I made to step back, and the word was so small, so hesitant, that Valdor whined low in my chest.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I promised, already reaching for the fastenings of my own shirt. Her eyes tracked the movement with hazy attention as I stripped efficiently and climbed onto the bed beside her. I loosened the towel she clutched and slipped beneath it, drawing her against my bare chest so that nothing separated us but shared warmth and the faint dampness still clinging to her skin.

She inhaled sharply at the contact, her body going rigid for a heartbeat before she melted into me with a sound halfway between a sob and a sigh. I banded one arm around her waist, the other sliding up to cup the back of her head.

“Eileen.” I said her name quietly, deliberately. “Listen to me, love. You don’t have to give your heart to people who never valued it. You get to choose where your love goes–who deserves it, who will treasure it the way it should be treasured. And the people who truly see you, who choose you… we’ll fill all those empty spaces your parents left behind.”

Her fingers curled against my chest, nails biting lightly into my skin as though she needed the small pain to believe this was real. Through the bond I pushed every ounce of conviction I possessed–the fierce protectiveness, the reverence, the overwhelming rightness of having her here, safe, mine.

“I don’t know how to let go of wanting them to love me,” she whispered.

“Then let me help you.” I tilted her face up so I could see her swollen eyes. “Let me show you what it feels like to be loved the way you deserve.”

I traced the line of her jaw with my thumb, felt her breath hitch when I skimmed lower to brush the faint ridge of my mating mark on her throat. “You’re mine, Eileen,” I murmured against her temple, my other hand drifting down her spine in slow, deliberate strokes. “And I’m yours. That’s not obligation or duty. That’s choice. My choice. Every single day.”

She shuddered, and I felt the first stirrings of something other than grief flickering through the bond–a tentative, hesitant warmth. I kissed her forehead, her closed eyelids, the tip of her nose, each press of my lips a silent vow. When I returned to the mark on her throat, I lingered there, mouthing gently at the sensitive skin, and the soft gasp she gave sent a bolt of heat straight through me.

“Regis.” My name was a plea, and her hand slid up into my hair, holding me against her neck. Through the bond I felt the sudden flare of need, sharp and

startling.

I pulled back just enough to meet her gaze, searching her face, and what I found was a kind of desperate hunger–not just for pleasure, but for replacement, for the physical and emotional reassurance that she wasn’t empty, wasn’t worthless.