Page 78 of Silence and Surrender

“One more week,” I whispered, more to myself than him. “One more week of healing. Then we start.”

“Whatever you need.” He pressed a kiss to my hair—another boundary crossed, another trust earned. “Whatever it takes.”

I closed my eyes, breathing in his familiar cologne. Letting myself feel safe, if only for this moment.

One more week. One more week of recovery. One more week before I had to face what I suspected was growing inside me.

“Again.”

Stryker’s voice carried the same stiffness I’d noticed in my captors. But where their commands had meant pain and submission, his meant strength. Power. Control.

I moved through the sequence again, bare feet silent on training mats. Block. Strike. Pivot. My body protested—still too weak, still healing—but I pushed through. The morning sickness I’d been hiding was worse today, but I refused to let it show.

“Better.” He circled slowly, watching my form. “But your guard drops when you transition. An opponent would exploit that.”

“Can you teach me?”

He demonstrated in slow motion, pointing out where I left myself vulnerable. Everything about him was practiced, each movement calculated, each lesson building on the last. Like Colton, he understood the value of routine. But he taught me how to break it. How to exploit it. How to turn an enemy’s strength against them.

“They’ll expect you to be weak,” he said, resetting his stance. “To follow rules. To be a victim.”

The word hit like a physical blow, but I kept moving. No more victim mentality.

“Their mistake.” I completed the sequence, ending in a defensive stance. Sweat had soaked through my training clothes, and my hands shook slightly. But I stayed upright through sheer will.

“Yes.” Something like approval crossed his features. “Their mistake.”

A movement caught my eye—Colton in the doorway, watching. He’d been there a while, I realized. Something in his expression made my heart race, and not just from exertion.

“That’s enough for today,” Stryker said, noting my distraction. “Rest. Recover. We go harder tomorrow.”

I nodded, grateful he couldn’t see how my stomach churned. The morning sickness was getting harder to hide, especially during training. But I wasn’t ready to face what it meant. Not yet.

“You’re pushing too hard,” Colton said as I gathered my water bottle. His voice carried that mix of pride and concern I was learning to recognize. “You need to rest.”

“I need to be stronger.” I took a long drink, buying time as another wave of nausea hit. “Like you did.”

His eyes softened. “That was different. I had time. Choice.”

“And I don’t?” My voice hardened like granite. “Because I’m broken? Because I’m not perfect anymore?”

“Because you’re still healing.” He moved closer, giving me space to retreat if needed. When I didn’t, he touched my arm gently. “Because you don’t have to prove anything to anyone.”

If only he knew what I was trying to prove. What I was trying to deny with every punishing training session.

“I prove it to myself,” I said instead. “Every day. Every hour.” My hand wanted to drift to my stomach but I forced it still. “Until I’m strong enough that no one can hurt me again.”

Understanding crossed his face. “Like I did after The Wolseley incident.”

I nodded, remembering how he’d told me about that night. Three drunk men cornering him outside the restaurant. How helpless he’d felt until the waiters came. How it had driven him to transform himself.

“But I had months,” he continued softly. “Time to build strength properly. Safely.”

Time I might not have, I thought but didn’t say. Not if what I suspected was true. Not if my body was already changing in ways I couldn’t control.

“I’ll rest,” I promised, needing to end this conversation before my nausea became obvious. “Just...need a shower first.”

He studied me for a moment longer, his concern evident in those gorgeous eyes of his. But he didn’t push, just squeezed my arm gently before letting me go. Small touches. Never assuming. Yet I wondered, were the touches out of guilt? Friendship? Or…something more?

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