Mated to Her Alpha Instructor (Eileen and Regis) novel Chapter 83

Mated to Her Alpha Instructor

Chapter 83

Eileen

Morning light filtered through the curtains of Regis’s bedroom, turning the air golden and soft. I woke slowly, cocooned in warmth and his lingering scent and for a few precious moments, I let myself simply be. Safe. Wanted. Held.

Then memory caught up: the shawl Kristina had draped around my shoulders, the weight of generations in its silver–threaded fabric. The tears I’d cried into her embrace. Alfred’s genuine apology. The way they’d looked at me across the dinner table–not with pity or judgment, but with welcome.

I slipped from the bed carefully, not wanting to wake Regis, and padded to the mirror. My fingers found the mark on my neck almost automatically, tracing the twin crescents of his bite. They were fainter than they’d been two days ago–the edges slightly blurred, the color less vivid. The ache of loss settled deeper in my chest.

But beneath it stirred something warmer. His family had opened their arms to me without hesitation, without judgment. They’d looked at me, an outsider, but someone worth protecting. Worth loving.

and seen not

I wanted to return that gift. Not out of obligation, but because something in me had shifted. The walls I’d built around my heart were crumbling, and in their place, a tender shoot of belonging was taking root. I wanted to embrace them the way they’d embraced me. To let this awakening love guide me toward them, not away.

I touched my stomach, barely swollen yet unmistakable now that I knew what I carried. “They really do want us,” I whispered to the life growing inside me.

“Both of us.”

My reflection stared back at me, eyes bright with unshed tears.

There has to be something. Some way I can give back.

I nodded, surprised by how much I did want it, ‘T’d love to see it.”

She looked up with that warm, knowing smile. “Come in, sweetheart. Regis preparing for your outing?”

“Yes.” I stepped inside, wringing my hands. “Kristina, I… I wanted to ask you something.”

“Of course.” She set aside her work and gestured to the cushioned bench beside her. “What’s troubling you?”

The words tangled in my throat. How could I explain this hollow feeling, this desperate need to give instead of only receive? “I know the mark on my neck is fading. I finally managed, voice barely above a whisper. “Regis says it doesn’t matter, but I can feel how much it means to him. And I-” My voice cracked.

“He’s given me so much. But I can’t give him anything back. I can’t even leave my mark on him.”

The confession poured out: “I want to do something for him. I don’t want to just be taken care of and protected. I want to matter too.”