One Night With My Alpha Professor

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Audrey

I stepped through the doors of the children’s ward, and the weight of the world settled on my shoulders. The room was quiet except for the soft hum of machines and the occasional murmur of low voices, the lights dim and surprisingly peaceful.

And then I saw her.

At the far end of the room, cradled by her parents’ arms, their faces streaked with tears, was Ivy. The little girl from the charity gala.

She looked so small in that bed, her tiny body dwarfed by the stark white sheets, her face pale and drawn. Her parents sat on either side of her, clinging to each other, grief etched into every line of their faces.

They had clearly been there for hours, days maybe, watching their daughter fade away.

“I-Ivy?” I whispered, taking a hesitant step forward.

Her mother snapped her head up first, her swollen eyes meeting mine across the dimly lit room. There was a moment of recognition-her mouth parted slightly in disbelief, her lips trembling.

“You’re… you’re the Silver Star,” she breathed. “You came…”

Inodded slowly, although I couldn’t bring myself to meet her gaze for long. Shame twisted painfully inside of me like a knife in my chest. I turned my eyes to Ivy, who lay so still, her breath shallow and uneven.

“What happened?” I whispered. The little girl had seemed okay at the gala just a couple of days ago-not healthy, of course, but awake and lucid and able to walk around on her own.

But now… she looked on

the

verge

of death.

Ivy’s father cleared his throat, his voice thick with tears. “After the gala…” he began, his words halting as if he was choking on each one. “She collapsed on the stairs. Hit her head on the way down. Between the blood loss and the cancer…. they don’t think she’ll make it through the night.”

His voice cracked, the last words barely escaping his throat.

“I should have carried her,” he whimpered.

The mother shook her head. “It’s not your fault, honey. She wanted to walk on her own. She was so excited about being cured.” She glanced at me and let out a tiny laugh. “She insisted on it.”

I swallowed hard, the hot, acrid taste of bile rising in my throat. The memory of that little girl’s hopeful face at the gala flashed through my mind-the way she had looked up at me with so much trust, asking if I could cure her

And I had lied. To protect myself. To hide.

But now, seeing her here like this, I wondered if it had been worth the cost. If giving her false hope had been the thing that had led to… this.

Ivy’s mother was watching me, her eyes wide and pleading. “Can you help her?” she asked softly, her voice trembling with desperation. “Please. You said you could at the gala…”

Her words were like a punch to the gut. The shame I had been trying to suppress bubbled to the surface, my chest tightening painfully.

“I can. But first, I have to tell you something.” I murmured, the words sticking in my throat. “At the gala… I lied. I hadn’t shifted yet. I was afraid, and I said what I thought would protect me. I’m so sorry. I should have told the truth, even if it would have made things worse for me.”

Their faces fell, the hope that had briefly flared in their eyes extinguished in an instant. I thought I might be sick.

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“But,” I added quickly, desperate to undo some of the damage, “I have shifted now. And I can help Ivy-if you’ll still trust me.”

For a long moment, they just stared at me, uncertainty and pain flickering across their faces. Then Ivy’s father slowly nodded, and her mother followed suit, clutching her daughter’s hand tightly.

“Please,” Ivy’s father whispered. “Anything.”

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I took a breath, steadying myself, even though my heart raced. This was different from before. This was real. I couldn’t make any more mistakes.

“I promise,” I said, looking at her parents one last time, “from this moment forward, I will never lie to you again. No matter the reason.”

Edwin, who’d been silently standing in the doorway, sent a thread of approval down the bond.

I stepped closer to Ivy, my knees almost buckling underneath me. I was exhausted, so exhausted that I wasn’t even sure if I could heal anyone else tonight, but… I had to try.

Gently, I placed my hand. on her forehead. Her skin was cold to the touch, clammy beneath my fingertips.

Taking a deep breath, I closed my eyes, reaching deep inside of myself for the silver energy that had become a part of me in such a short amount of time. It responded more easily than I thought it would, surging forward like a river breaking through a dam.

The power coursed through me, flowing into Ivy, and I could feel it-could sense the cancer in her body like a dark, insidious force clinging to every part of her.

But it wasn’t like healing Peter’s silver poisoning. This was different-harder. The cancer was a stubborn thing, deeply rooted and pervasive, resisting every effort to dislodge it.

I gritted my teeth, focusing all my strength, pushing deeper. Sweat beaded on my forehead, the strain making my body tremble. But I couldn’t stop. I wouldn’t stop. Slowly, agonizingly, I felt the cancer begin to give way, dissolving under the relentless force of my power.

Finally, after what felt like hours, Ivy’s eyes fluttered open. Her face, once pale and drawn, was now brighter, her eyes clearer than I had ever seen them. A smile spread across her face, weak but radiant.

“Silver Star,” she whispered. “You came…”

Tears of relief poured down her parents’ faces as they embraced their daughter, sobbing openly. I stepped back, feeling light-headed, my body drained of energy. It was only then that I realized that Edwin had moved to me while I had been working, his hand clutching my shoulder.

“We should go,” he whispered, giving me a gentle tug. “You’ve done enough.”

But the sight of Ivy, alive and smiling, just made me feel….

Empty.

There were so many other children-so many others suffering, their faces etched with the same pain that Ivy had endured. I couldn’t just heal one child and leave.

GT.

“I have to help them all,” I said, turning to Edwin.

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Edwin’s hand tightened around my shoulder. “You’ll make yourself sick. I can feel your power ebbing through the bond.”

But I shook my head, the determination hardening into steel inside of me. “I can’t just walk away. Not when I can help.”

My wolf stirred. “You’re pushing too hard. You’ll hurt yourself.”

“I don’t care,” I replied. I couldn’t stop. Not when there was more I could do. This was the only way I could make up for lying before.

And so, ignoring both my mate and my wolf, I moved from bed to bed, placing my hands on each child, healing them one by one.

With each one, I felt my strength waning, that pool of silver energy draining faster than I could replenish it. My legs began to shake, my vision blurring, but I pushed through the pain. The look of joy and relief on each child’s face was what kept me going, even as my own body screamed in protest.

“You’re going to kill yourself,” Edwin’s voice insisted through the Mindlink. “Come on, Audrey. Give it a rest.”

I heard him, but I couldn’t listen. Not now. Not when I was so close to finishing.

By the time I reached the last child, my breath was coming in shallow, ragged gasps. My body felt like it was the verge collapse, but I forced myself to place my hands on the little boy lying before me.

“Just… one… more,” I whispered, my voice barely audible.

With the last dregs of my power, I healed him, watching-no, feeling-the cancer dissolve into nothingness. As it left his body, I felt the world tilt, my knees giving out beneath me.

Before I hit the ground, strong arms caught me.

“Audrey!” Edwin’s voice echoed in my ears, but it sounded distant, muffled, far away.

I looked up at him, my vision swimming. “I did it,” I whispered, my lips barely moving. “I helped them all.”

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The last thing I felt before darkness consumed me was the warmth of Edwin’s arms around me and the soft touch of dozens of tiny hands against my skin.

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