Mated to Her Alpha Instructor (Eileen and Regis) novel Chapter 67

Chapter 67

Eileen

The sound reached me even through the thick oak door of Regis’s rest room–a low, guttural snarl that vibrated through the stone walls and sent ice down my spine. My heart slammed against my ribs as the bond flared hot and violent, flooding me with Regis’s rage, his killing intent so sharp it felt like

shattered glass in my chest.

I stumbled to my feet, the blanket falling away as I rushed to the door. My hands shook on the handle. Outside in the corridor, I could hear Thomas

Blackwell’s voice, high and panicked, and beneath it–Andrew’s whimper.

The air itself felt wrong. Heavy. Suffocating. Alpha fury rolled through the hallway in waves, and even from behind the door I could feel it pressing down on me, making my knees weak. This wasn’t just anger. This was the promise of violence, of blood, of death.

Regis.

I yanked the door open and the full force of it hit me like a physical blow. The scent of ozone and winter storms, Regis’s scent twisted dark with wrath. Down the corridor, I saw them–Andrew pressed against the wall, his face white as snow, a dark wet stain spreading across his trousers. Thomas stood frozen nearby, mouth open in wordless terror.

And Regis.

He was half–shifted, his body caught between wolf and man, muscles corded beneath his shirt, claws extended and pressed to Andrew’s throat. His eyes burned pure gold, Valdor’s eyes, feral and merciless. Blood welled in thin lines where the tips of his claws had already broken skin.

“Say one more word,” Regis growled, his yoice barely human, “and I will tear out your throat.”

His eyes flickered, just barely. A flash of ice–blue breaking through the gold.

“Please,” I said again, letting all my fear and trust pour through the band. For ine. Come back

The change was gradual. His breathing slowed first, then the gold in his eyes began to recede, inch by painful inch, until finally I was looking into familiar ice–blue. His claws retracted slowly, though not before leaving three shallow scratches across Andrew’s cheek–a warning carved in blood.

Andrew collapsed the moment Regis released him, hitting the floor in a sobbing heap.

Regis turned to me, his hands still trembling, and pulled me up into his arms. I went willingly, wrapping my arms around his neck as he lifted me against his chest. Through the band, I felt his anguish, his guilt at nearly losing control, his desperate need to hold me and confirm I was unharmed.

‘I’m sorry,” he breathed against my hair, his voice rough and shaking. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you-”