Chapter 115: Tender Hands

Half-asleep, I felt it first before I understood it.A weight in the room. Heavy. Watchful.

It felt like something from deep woods territory silent, patient, waiting for the right moment to move. My body reacted before my mind did. A chill slid down my spine, sharp and cold.

I tried to open my eyes.

They wouldn’t move.

I was stuck between dreaming and waking, unable to fight or flee. My heartbeat slowed, then quickened, responding to a presence that felt far too real to be imagined.

It came closer.

Warm breath brushed the shell of my ear. Not threatening. Not gentle either. Just... certain.

Then a low voice murmured, close enough that I felt it in my bones.

"Elena... when will you finally love me?"

The words jolted through me.

Love?

Who was asking for that?

My chest tightened, but no answer came. My mouth wouldn’t move. My instincts screamed, but my body stayed still.

When morning came, the feeling faded with the light. I shook off the unease, telling myself it was only a dream one left behind by memories that hadn’t healed yet.

After breakfast, Theo led me through the west wing to one of the training rooms built beneath the house. The air there always felt different. Charged. Like the walls had seen generations of dominance settled through sweat and blood.

A woman stood in the center of the room.

She was tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in fitted sportswear. Her stance was grounded, balanced, like she could knock someone down without trying.

"Mrs. Hale," she said sharply. "I’m Josie Cross. From today on, I’ll be responsible for your training."

Her eyes flicked over me, assessing.

"Techniques matter," she continued, "but strength matters more. Without it, you won’t survive a real threat."

"I understand," I said, straightening. "I’ll do whatever it takes."

Now that I knew Camilla wasn’t all smiles and soft words, I couldn’t afford weakness. If she ever caught me alone again, instinct wouldn’t be enough.

Josie nodded once. "Good. But I won’t lie to you. You’re starting from the bottom. You’re inexperienced, and your body isn’t conditioned for this life yet. Mr. Hale told me not to hold back."

Her gaze hardened. "So I won’t."

"If it hurts," she added, "endure it. Strength doesn’t come from comfort."

"I’m ready," I said.

And I meant it.

Growth had never come easy to me. Not in life. Not in death. And not now. But I was done running from pain.

By the end of the session, my body felt wrecked.

My arms trembled. My legs barely held me upright. Bruises bloomed everywhere deep, ugly reminders of limits being pushed past breaking.

Sit-ups. Planks. Squats. Weights. Drills that tested balance, speed, reaction. Over and over until my muscles screamed.

Josie hadn’t gone easy on me.

After a hot shower, I collapsed onto the bed, exhaustion pulling me under like a tide. The room spun faintly as my body finally gave up the fight.

Lewis came in not long after and sat beside me.

"So," he said softly, amused. "How was your first day?"

I didn’t even lift my head. "Everything hurts. Everything except my head feels like it doesn’t belong to me anymore."

He smiled. I felt it more than saw it. "Think you can keep going?"

"Yes," I murmured. "This pain is nothing compared to what it felt like before I died."

His hand reached for mine, but when his fingers brushed my arm, I hissed.

"Ow careful. That spot’s sore."

His expression darkened as he took in the bruises. "You’re covered in them. How are you supposed to train again tomorrow?"

He opened a drawer and pulled out a small jar. "Here. This helps with soreness and bruising."

My eyes widened. "You’re serious? Lewis, you’re a lifesaver."

He chuckled. "I’ve used it enough times to swear by it. Now take off your clothes. I’ll help you apply it."

I tried to sit up and immediately groaned as my back seized. "Ah ow!"

Pain shot through me like fire.

"I can do it myself," I said quickly, teeth clenched.

He set the jar down, watching me closely. When I reached for it, he caught my wrist easily and pulled it back.

"Riley," he said calmly, firmly. "Don’t be stubborn."

"Can’t you just call a maid?" I blurted.

He raised a brow. "You want someone walking in, seeing you like this, and assuming I hurt you? You want whispers spreading through the pack?"

I froze.

"...That’s not what I meant," I muttered.

He stepped closer, his presence filling the space without effort. "Then what did you mean?"

"I just... don’t want to trouble you."

His voice softened instantly. "It’s not trouble. You’re my mate. If I can’t care for you like this, then none of it means anything."

I was stretched out on the bed, too tired to argue, when Lewis sat beside me with the ointment in his hand. The room felt quiet, heavy with that familiar presence he carried calm on the surface, powerful underneath.

"Riley," he said lightly, though there was something knowing in his eyes, "we’re married now. One day, this will be nothing. If you won’t even let me help with sore muscles, how do you think we’ll ever talk about starting a family?"

Heat rushed straight to my face.

"Who said anything about that?" I snapped, embarrassed.

He smiled, slow and confident, like someone who already knew the answer. "You didn’t. Not yet. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t coming."

Then his tone shifted, softer. Grounding.

"For now, let’s focus on you healing. If you stay this tense, tomorrow’s training will break you."

He leaned closer, voice low and coaxing. "Be good. Let me help."

I hesitated, then sighed. Fighting him took more energy than I had.

"...Fine."

I was wearing a thin silk camisole under a matching robe. I reached up to undo the buttons myself, but the moment I lifted my arms, pain flared through my shoulders. I froze halfway.

Lewis noticed instantly.

"Alright," he said gently, taking my hand. "I’ve got it. Close your eyes if that helps."

That softness caught me off guard.

There was no teasing. No pressure. Just patience.

Refusing now would only make things awkward, so I nodded and closed my eyes. "Okay."

Even without looking, I could feel his attention on me. Quiet. Focused. Controlled, the way someone acts when instinct is held carefully in check.

His fingers brushed the fabric, undoing each button slowly, one by one. No rush. No wandering touch. Just steady hands loosening the silk.

The robe parted slightly.

Then it hit me.

I had forgotten something important.

I wasn’t wearing anything beneath the camisole.

My breath caught. My body went still on its own, reacting before my mind could catch up. Even if I said nothing, there was no way he didn’t notice.

The air shifted.

That calm presence sharpened, just a little.

This wasn’t just embarrassment anymore.

It was instinct meeting awareness.

And suddenly, I was painfully aware of how close my mate was and how much he could sense without a single word spoken.