Mated to Her Alpha Instructor (Eileen and Regis) novel Chapter 203

Đã xử lý Chapter 203, chỉ sửa lỗi OCR, lỗi xuống dòng và ký tự/định dạng thừa; không thay đổi nội dung gốc.

Chapter 203

Eileen

The treatment room smelled of antiseptic herbs and blood–a combination that no longer made my stomach turn after weeks at the medical station. I worked quickly, my hands steady as I cleaned the infected wounds on the unconscious Beta’s neck and shoulder. The bites were deep, jagged at the edges where rogue fangs had torn through flesh with vicious intent.

“Pass me the yarrow paste,” I murmured to the assistant hovering at my elbow.

She handed me the ceramic bowl without hesitation, her movements efficient. I’d trained her well these past days, teaching her the same techniques Hawthorne had drilled into me. The paste went on thick, its astringent scent cutting through the metallic tang of blood.

Behind me, Regis stood with his arms crossed, his presence a solid wall of warmth at my back. Through our bond, I felt his protective instincts humming like a plucked string–taut but controlled. He’d been this way since bringing the injured man in an hour ago, his wolf prowling just beneath his skin.

I understood. Every injured wolf was a reminder that danger lurked at our borders, that Silas remained at large with less than two weeks until the full moon.

“How is he?” Kieran’s voice came from the doorway, low and careful.

“Stable,” I said without looking up. “The infection is responding to treatment. He should wake soon.”

“Good.” Kieran stepped fully into the room, his sword belt creaking. “Patrols found no sign of the rogues who attacked him. They scattered after he shifted and ran.”

Regis made a sound of acknowledgment, his attention never wavering from my work. I felt his gaze tracking my every movement—not doubting my skill, but simply… watching. Keeping vigil in his own way.

I finished applying the paste and reached for clean bandages. As I wound them around the Beta’s throat, I studied his face properly for the first time. Even unconscious and pale from blood loss, he had kind features–a strong jaw softened by the gentle curve of his mouth, laugh lines at the corners of his eyes. His hands bore the calluses of a swordsman, but his nails were neatly trimmed, his gear well-maintained.

Whoever sent him knew they were sending someone capable, I thought, securing the bandage. Someone trusted.

“He’ll need the dressing changed every two hours,” I told the assistant. “And if his fever spikes, come get me immediately.”

Mira froze in the doorway, a basket of fresh herbs clutched against her chest. Her eyes went wide, fixed on something over my shoulder with an expression I’d never seen on her face before–shock mixed with something raw and primal that made my breath catch.

“Mira?” I took a step toward her, but she didn’t seem to hear me. “Are you–”

The basket slipped from her fingers.

I lunged forward, catching it before the carefully bundled herbs could scatter across the floor. When I looked up, Mira still hadn’t moved. Her face had gone bright red, her chest rising and falling in rapid, shallow breaths.

“Mira, what’s wrong?” I set the basket aside and reached for her hand. Her skin burned hot to the touch, and beneath my fingers, her pulse hammered wildly. “Are you sick? Should I–”

“She smells it,” Regis said quietly.

I whipped around to stare at him. He was watching.