Mated to Her Alpha Instructor (Eileen and Regis) novel Chapter 98

Chapter 98

I nodded, not trusting my voice, and pushed through the door.

Through the bond, I felt Regis approaching–his presence like a warm tide washing over my frayed nerves. He must have rearranged his training schedule to be here. The knowledge steadied something fundamental in my chest.

Marcus’s eyes cracked open as I approached his bedside, recognition flickering across his pain–dulled features. He’d been one of the warriors most vocal about doubting a wolfless healer. Now, watching me kneel beside him with trembling hands, he managed a weak grimace.

“Come to experiment on me, little scholar?”

“Only if you’ll let me.” I kept my tone gentle, opening the jar to reveal the silvery paste. “This is based on a treatment used three hundred years ago for a similar parasitic infection. I won’t lie–there’s no documented record of side effects because the plague ended before extensive trials. But without treatment, you have maybe three days left. This might give you more.”

He stared at the preparation, then at me. Through the window, I was acutely aware of the watching crowd–Derek and Celeste lurking in one corner, their expressions openly skeptical.

I remembered what Derek had said in the library, and the memory twisted my stomach with disgust. I refused to let my gaze linger on him for even a second. And the last thing I needed was to tempt Regis into tearing him apart.

Other warriors pressed close to the glass, faces tight with worry for their packmate. This also made me a bit nervous.

“Will it hurt?” Marcus asked quietly.

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “Probably. The formula has to actively combat the parasitic organisms, and they’re deeply embedded in your tissue. But I’ll be right here the entire time. If it becomes unbearable, we stop immediately.”

Another pause. Then, with effort: “Do it.”

Please work, I thought desperately. Please, please work.

Time crawled. I kept my eyes fixed on my pocket watch, counting each minute like a prayer. Mira had brought me water and a roll I couldn’t stomach. Other healers checked Marcus’s vitals periodically, their expressions carefully neutral.

At the two–hour mark, Celeste’s voice carried clearly through the glass: “When the wound rots through, she’ll be a murderer.”

Mira started to rise, fury in her eyes, but I caught her wrist. ‘Don’t. Results will speak louder than anything we say.”

She subsided, though her glare could’ve melted steel.

At hour three, I forced myself to stand and approach Marcus’s bedside again.