ALPHA: Heir Of The Four

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Notes: Caleb's POV

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- 'There'll be no rest for the wicked. . .' -

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Night terrors were not something that had plagued me since I was a pup, and yet, I had just been startled awake for the third consecutive night. The third night in a row that I had been away from the only person powerful enough to slay the demons that haunted me and drive out the darkness that surrounded my soul.

     Running a hand through my sweaty hair while trying to steady my breathing, I glanced over to my right—to her side of the bed—knowing that I was only setting myself up for another blow to the chest that always accompanied the careless action. Yet, I followed through with it anyway. And just like the night before, and the night before that, despite the sweat covering every inch of my body, on the inside, I felt as cold as the unwrinkled sheets covering the empty spot next to where I laid.

     And just like the previous nights, my immediate thoughts were to call her. To end this torture and call Ava-Rain, who I had not spoken to since leaving her with the Hellands. I had no doubt that hearing my name slip past her lips would have set my mind at ease. That simply hearing the sound of her voice would have put an immediate end to my suffering. And with my tail tucked between my legs, I'd have begged for her forgiveness and gladly accepted any punishment she'd wish to inflict upon me because I knew there couldn't be any type of pain that could ever amount up to the internal torment—the mental, emotional and spiritual deterioration—a wolf felt when physically separated from its mate.

     But for the third night in a row, with a strength I wished I didn't have, I suppressed the urge to call. Though I must admit that doing so was only made easy by the fact that I had forced Chase to take my phone away from me—for this very reason—and not return it until Ava-Rain returned.

     If she returned.

     A quick shower managed to settle my nerves, but, as I already knew and expected, it just wasn't enough to cleanse me from the nightmares that persistently played on a continuous loop inside of my head. Nightmares that didn't necessarily gain their power of terror through the realm of dreams because they were more than just figments of my imagination. More than just images conjured by my subconscious for me to decipher.

They were memories. Awful and unforgettable memories that I almost wished were, in fact, just nonsensical images bred from my subconscious because at least then I could have shook them off and told myself that they weren't real. That it was all just a dream.

     But they were real. And those nightmares were far from just a dream. And like a moth to a flame, night after night, I found myself drawn to the very place where those nightmares took place.

     The night sky, or, rather, the moon had always seemed to send my wolf and I into a state of peace. When I was younger—too young to appreciate the moon's beauty yet old enough to understand that it was much more than just a gigantic rock full of craters—sitting underneath the stars and staring up at the moon always made me feel that, despite my identity, I did not have to nor could I ever hide who I was while basking in its light. Yet, as I sat outside of the den for the third time, unbothered by the slight drop in temperature as the night grew darker, I couldn't help but feel as though the sanctuary that had been offered to me every night for years without fail no longer existed.

     That, or I was just no longer permitted to feel peace, nor feel whole, under its watchful gaze.

     How could I ever feel whole when half of my heart and soul was hundreds of kilometres away?