Mated to Her Alpha Instructor (Eileen and Regis) novel Chapter 9

Chapter 9

I had first time around down, leaving my lungs and my throat raw. I lay curled on my side, staring at the wall, too exhausted to do anything. The first time I closed my eyes, I saw him—moonlight turning his silver-black hair to liquid mercury, ice-blue eyes burning with a warmth and intensity that had made me feel seen for the first time in my life.

I buried my face into the pillow, trying to block out the memories, but they clung to me as stubbornly as his scent. The reverence in his touch as he’d held me. The way he’d looked at me like I was something precious rather than broken. The moment when he’d bitten down and I’d felt something inside me click into place, the bond finally finding its key.

Then came the crashing shame when I’d woken up in his arms in that clearing, reality crashing back in.

What had I done? What had I let him do?

Eventually, exhaustion won. I drifted into a fitful sleep, but even there I couldn’t escape. My dreams were full of him—his hands on my skin, his voice in my ear, the overwhelming rightness of being held in his arms. I woke gasping several times, disoriented and aching, before finally sinking into a deeper, dreamless void.

When I opened my eyes again, the light slanting through the narrow window was all wrong. Too golden, too low. I blinked at it stupidly for a moment before the realization hit me.

Afternoon. It was late afternoon.

I’d slept through most of the day.

I sat up slowly, my body protesting every movement. The soreness between my thighs was impossible to ignore, a physical reminder of what had happened that made my face burn even in the empty room. My fingers drifted automatically to my neck, touching the place where his teeth had broken skin.

The mark was still there, hidden beneath my collar, but I could feel it like a brand. Warm. Pulsing. Alive in a way that made my heart stutter and my breath catch.

I jerked my hand away, forcing myself to focus. To think. To plan.

Because if anyone found out about this, if anyone discovered that a wolfless nothing like me had been marked by an Alpha…

My stomach twisted. They’d laugh. Or worse, they’d assume I’d somehow tricked him, manipulated him, thrown myself at him like the desperate, pathetic creature they already believed me to be. And he—whoever he was—would wake up and realize what he’d done, would see the mark on my neck and feel nothing but regret and disgust.

The thought made something crack inside my chest, sharp and painful.

“No,” I whispered to the empty room. “I can’t let that happen.”

I couldn’t let them see. Couldn’t let anyone see. Not until I figured out what to do, how to handle this, whether the mate bond I’d felt pulsing between us in that clearing was real or just some cruel trick of the moon and the magic in those ancient stones.

Then another thought struck me, cold and immediate: the Moon Dance.

I glanced at the small clock on my desk. Two hours until the celebration began. Mira would already be getting ready, probably wondering why I hadn’t shown up. She always came looking for me when I went quiet, and the last thing I needed was for her to see what had happened.

Anyone with a decent nose would notice. And Mira had an excellent nose.

“In the old days, when wolves needed to hide from enemies, they would use a mixture of lavender, sage, and crushed moonstone to dampen their natural scent. It won’t eliminate it entirely, but it will muffle it enough that casual observers won’t notice anything unusual.”

I thought it was just historical trivia at the time. Now, it might be the only thing standing between me and complete social destruction.

I worked quickly, grinding the herbs together in my mortar, adding a pinch of moonstone dust I’d collected for a class project. The mixture turned a pale, shimmering blue as I added a few drops of water, and when I whispered the activation phrase Moonfern had taught us—more out of desperation than real belief it would work—the paste began to glow faintly.

My hands trembled as I smoothed it over my skin, focusing on my pulse points and wrists where scent concentrated strongest. The cedar-mint that had clung to me like a lover’s touch faded to barely a whisper, and slowly, blessedly, the familiar scent of chamomile and apples returned.

It wasn’t perfect. If someone with a strong nose got too close, they’d still smell something off. But it would have to do.

I was just sealing the remaining mixture into a small vial—I’d need to reapply it later—when three sharp knocks rattled my door, followed by two softer ones.

Mira’s signal.

“Eileen! I know you’re in there. Let me in before I pick the lock.”

Taking one last look at my reflection, I decided I looked passable. My eyes were only a little red, my expression carefully neutral. The masking paste had done its job; I could barely detect the Alpha’s scent anymore beneath the chamomile and apple.