Mated to Her Alpha Instructor (Eileen and Regis) novel Chapter 176

Mated to Her Alpha Instructor

Chapter 176

Nina

Before 1 could process the thought, voices drifted through the trees again.

“Let’s break for lunch, one of the workers said, stretching his back. “We’ll finish the door frame this afternoon.”

They moved away from the pit, heading toward a small camp I could now see in the opposite tree line. The moment they disappeared from view, some

reckless impulse seized me.

I should run. Should flee back to the station immediately, lock myself in my room, pretend I’d never seen this place.

But my feet carried me forward instead, scrambling down into the clearing until I stood at the pit’s edge. Up close, the construction was even more meticulous. The timber was treated against rot. The metal fixtures were new, showing no rust. Whoever commissioned this had money and planning.

My gaze fell on a scrap of wood near the ladder they’d used to climb in and out–a piece trimmed from one of the support beams. A mark had been burned into the grain: a stylized crow with spread wings, a crescent moon behind it.

The Crowe family crest.

I recognized it from my nightmares. From the brand they’d threatened to put on my mother. From the documents I’d glimpsed when Silas came to gloat about my mother’s “cooperation” in those final days before-

My hand moved without conscious thought, snatching up the wood scrap and shoving it into my cloak pocket. Evidence. Proof that this wasn’t paranoia or trauma playing tricks on my mind.

But even as I backed away from the pit, boots slipping in the loose soil, a horrifying rChapter 175

Nina

The morning light filtering through the infirmary windows felt accusatory as I fumbled with the silver root extract, my hands trembling so badly the vial nearly slipped from my grip. The crash never came–Dr. Hawthorne’s steady hand caught it mid–fall, his weathered face creasing with concern rather than

irritation.

“Nina. His voice was gentle, the kind of gentleness that made my throat tight. “When did you last sleep? And I mean truly sleep, not whatever you’ve been

doing these past nights.”

“I’m fine.” The lie tasted bitter. “Just need more tea.”

“What you need,” he said, setting the vial down with deliberate care, ‘is rest. Medical rest. That’s not a suggestion, Grey–it’s a prescription.”

My fingers curled into fists against my apron. “Dr. Hawthorne, I can work. I won’t make mistakes-

“You look like you’re about to collapse. His tone remained kind but immovable. “One day off. Go back to your quarters, draw the curtains, and sleep.

The word “quarters” made my stomach clench. Four walls. A locked door. Alone with nothing but my thoughts and the nightmares that came with closing my

eyes.

“I’d rather work,” I said, hating how small my voice sounded.

“I’m sure you would. Dr. Hawthorne began untying my apron himself when I didn’t move. “But part of learning to be a healer is knowing when you need healing. Today, Nina, you need rest.

There was no arguing with him. I nodded stiffly, surrendering the apron, and left the pharmacy with the distinct sensation of being cast adrift. Behind me, I heard him murmur to his assistant: “That child is holding on by a thread. Keep an eye on her, will you?”

The thread. Yes. That’s exactly what it felt like–a single fraying thread suspending me over an abyss.

Back in the dormitory, I stood in the center of my room and understood immediately why I’d fought so hard to stay at work. The silence was suffocating Without tasks to occupy my hands and mind, there was nothing to prevent the memories from flooding in.

I tried lying down. Lasted perhaps three minutes before my eyes snapped open, my mother’s screams echoing in the phantom space between sleeping and waking. The ceiling pressed down like a lid. The walls seemed to creep inward, shrinking the room to the size of a vage

I sat up, gasping, pressing my palms against my temples. This is ridiculous. It’s just a room You re sule. He doesn’t even know you’re here

But my body didn’t believe the rational words. My pulse hammered. My skin felt too tight. Every creak of the building became footsteps in the conde outside.

I couldn’t stay here. I would go mad if I stayed here.

Throwing on my cloak, I slipped out through the side entrance, ignoring the questioning look from a passing outerly. The forest called to me–not as a destination, but as an escape. Open space. Moving air. The opposite of confinement

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1:10 pm P NMN.

Chapter 175

Just walk, I told myself. Just keep moving. If you keep moving, the fear can’t catch up.

The upstream path along the creek was one I’d discovered during my first week at the outpost. Few people came this way–the treatment station and its surrounding facilities lay in the opposite direction–which made it perfect for someone who needed to disappear for a few hours.

I followed the water’s burbling course, focusing on the rhythm of my boots against earth, the whisper of wind through pine needles, the distant call of a hawk. Gradually, incrementally, the vise around my chest loosened. My hands stopped shaking. The white noise of panic receded to a manageable hum

This was what I needed. Not sleep–I couldn’t sleep, not with him so close–but movement. Distance. The illusion of control that came from choosing where

my feet went.

I walked until my legs ached, until the morning sun climbed high enough to slant golden through the canopy–Only when exhaustion began to blur the edges of my thoughts did I consider turning back. Dr. Hawthorne would expect me to return eventually, and if I stayed out too long someone might come looking-

A sound stopped me mid–step. Wrong sound. Out of place in the forest’s natural symphony.

Clang. Thud. Ciang.

Metal striking metal. Wood being dragged. Voices, low and businesslike,

I moved carefully through the underbrush, grateful for the forest skills my mother had taught me in the brief windows between captivity. Stay low. Test each footfall. Keep the wind in your face so your scent doesn’t carry.

The sounds grew louder. Through a screen of wild currant bushes, I caught my first glimpse of the site.

Two men I didn’t recognize were working in a small clearing. They’d excavated a pit perhaps ten feet square and eight feet deep, the raw earth piled in careful mounds around the perimeter. But it wasn’t just a pit.

It was a cell.

The walls had been shored up with timber planks, metal brackets bolted into place to hold iron bars. A framework for a trapdoor lay nearby, hinges already attached. Chains coiled in neat loops beside a leather tool bag. The kind of silver chains meant for wrists and ankles.

My vision grayed at the edges..

I knew this construction. Had lived within it. The dimensions were nearly identical to the cell that had held me for the first eight years of my life–cramped enough that you couldn’t lie flat in any direction, tall enough that you couldn’t reach the ceiling even standing on tiptoe. Designed specifically to rob you of any possibility of comfort or escape..

No. No no no-

My chest constricted. Couldn’t breathe Couldn’t think. The afternoon forest dissolved into the darkness of that underground prison, the smell of damp earth and rusted iron, the sound of my mother sobbing herself bourse

-said it has to be finished before the full moon.”

The voice sliced through my spiral. One of the workers, wiping sweat from his brow as he surveyed their progress.

“Aye, Mr. Crowe was very specific, his companion replied. “No delays. This one’s important, apparently

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1:10 pm P W

Chapter 175

Must be, if he’s overseeing the construction himself.

Aly. Crowe.

The name detonated in my skull like a thunder crack.

My hands found the rough bark of the tree beside me, the only thing keeping me upright as my knees threatened to buckle. The childhood terror I’d spent years learning to contain surged up my throat like bile.

He was building another cage. Here. Now. In this forest.

And the men said “this one–implying there would be an occupant. Someone specific.

Who?

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