Chapter Notes: Caleb's POV

* * *

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

* * * *

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?

     To say that I hadn't created a codependency on Ava-Rain would have been a lie. I depended on her and our relationship in a way that I never expected I would. In a way that a man old enough to have a pack to call his own should probably never have admitted when one of the fundamentals of being an alpha was to lead; to be the source of strength for your pack to draw from, not fall apart when your heart got a little broken. But once upon a time, long before a pack and a mate came along, I was just a boy. A boy who used to sit under the moon and imagine.

     Under the moon, I was free.

     Under the moon, I was a blessing, not a curse.

     Under the moon, my nature as an heir of the four was a declaration, meant to be shouted from mountain tops and fashioned into songs for heirs of all elements to sing. I imagined my story being passed down from one generation onto the next. And, long after I was gone, imagined that I would still live on through them, breathing life into them as each element breathed life into me. Imagined that I could never truly die.

     But what the moon offered me was only a fantasy. It brought with it a night sky to use as a blank canvas, and on it I painted my wildest dreams in between the stars until the sun rose and wiped them all away with a painting of its own: dull colours to portray that I would never be free; harsh and erratic strokes to remind me that I was a curse. A masterpiece of reality, an abstract work of art that depicted a cold and haunting message: that after I moved on from this life into the next, nobody would ever know that I existed, let alone know my name.

     "Caleb?"

     I didn't turn to the sound of her voice like I usually would have had it been under any other circumstance. Didn't move so much as a muscle when she took a seat on the grass next to me, nor when she placed a hand on my back and began to rub it in that soothing way that only mothers could. I only continued to stare out towards the moon, wondering if there was even the slightest chance that, in that exact moment, Ava-Rain was staring up at it, too.

     And if she was, I wondered if she felt my anguish. Felt my pain. But, most of all, if she felt my love. And, if so, was it currently wrapped around her like a blanket of warmth, mimicking the feel of my embrace? Perhaps it was twirling around her like a gentle wind, brushing against her cheek like my fingers would have, or softly ruffling her curls, making its presence known every now and again so that she would be reminded that she would always have it.

     "Caleb, what's going on? Your Father and I are worried."

     "I don't want to talk about it. Just go back inside."

     Despite my request, she remained seated and continued to rub my back, which only pushed me to pull away from her completely by rising to my feet. Again, if it were under any other circumstance, I gladly would have allowed her to continue with her need to comfort me because I knew all too well that it was greater than my need to be comforted. But comfort was the last thing that I wanted because the only person that could successfully do so in that moment was gone. So my mother's attempts were more irritating than they were comforting because they failed pitifully in comparison.

     "Caleb!" She called after me when I started walking towards the woods. "Please, talk to me."

     This was the very reason why I had barely spoken more than three words to Harrison, the traitor who had called my parents and told them everything that had transpired in the last four days. This was the reason why I had not called them myself. This was the reason why I didn't want my parents—especially my mother—to return. I loved her to death, but I could do without being coddled.

     "Go back inside, Mom!"

     "No."

     It wasn't so much what she said but how she said it that caused me to stop. Giving her what she obviously wanted, I turned around and faced her. Even with the distance between us, the moonlight was enough to highlight the slight frown of her mouth and the unshed tears in her eyes.

     "I will not go anywhere until you tell me what's wrong," she crossed her arms. "Until you tell me how I can help you."

     I wish you could. I really do.

     "You can't."

     "I can—"

     "No," I shook my head, "you can't, Mom."

     "Let me try—"

     "You just don't get it, do you?" I yelled. "You always think that you can help me. That you can fix me. When are you finally going to realize that the more you try to interfere, the more damage you end up causing? Just leave it alone. I'm not a little kid anymore. I'm not your little kid anymore."

     A chill ran up my spine, and it had less to do with the chilly night air, and more so the cold look that my mother had given me. "Do not speak to me as if I did not carry you inside of me, Caleb."

     I should have known better than to have stopped walking away from her because it only opened up the invitation for her to close the space between us. And although every fibre in my being was screaming at me to leave, I knew better than to walk away from my Moira Brandt—again—when she was talking to me. Specifically, when she was talking to me in that tone.

     You know, the 'I gave you life and I could easily take that life away' tone.

     "You will always be my little kid. When you hurt, I hurt. When you're broken," she placed her hand in the centre of my chest, "I'm broken. You are my son. My only son. My only child. Please, don't sever that connection. I could not bare it," her free hand cupped my cheek, "and I doubt that I could ever survive it."

     A deep sigh escaped me, and the last bit of my resolve to shut her out was expelled, mingling with the barely there breeze.

     From Ezra Brandt, I inherited his cold and hard exterior. My father showed me how to keep my emotions in check, an easy task for a man that was naturally distant and unapologetic for it. But what I inherited from Moira Brandt was the complete opposite. She was akin to an empath and, like her, I often drowned in my own emotions, along with the emotions of everyone around me. And because we were so alike, I knew just how true her words had been. Knew just how crippling emotions could be.

     "This is the third night in a row that you've come out here in the middle of the night. You're barely eating. You're obviously not sleeping much either. Is it about Kane? Ava-Rain? You haven't talked about either of them—"

     "They started again," I quickly rushed out, hoping that it would shut her up and get her to abandon her shaky tread down territory that I just did not want her exploring any further.

     I didn't have to do much more than stare into her eyes for her to know exactly what I was talking about. Even though I really didn't want to discuss it, especially with her, it was the only other option than having to pour out my feelings about my beta and mate. Especially when I had no clue as to where I stood with either of them.

     "The nightmares," I continued, "the memories. . .they've come back."

     Her eyes widened. "After all this time?"

     I pulled away from her then. The shock in her voice caused me to take a step back—a step away from her—and forced her hand to fall to her side. "After all this time?" I repeated, turning her question into a question of my own. "They may have stopped haunting me every night in my sleep for years up until a few days ago, but I can assure you, Mother, that I can always feel their caress when I'm awake, shadowing my every move, every thought and every action."

     Her lips parted, but whatever she might have wished to say remained tightly bound inside of her. She lowered her gaze to the grass. I was sure the action had nothing to do with her finding the sight more appealing than her own son, but because I think it might have been easier for her to look anywhere other than at me in that moment.

     "You know," I tried my best to soften my tone, "I never blamed you and Dad." Despite my urge to offer her some semblance of comfort beyond a slight change in tone to decrease the harshness—maybe reach out and take her hand, or place my hand on her cheek to coerce her into looking up at me—I chose, instead, to remain on my side of the invisible but very real line that separated the both of us. One that had been there for a very, very long time.

     A part of me just did not wish to console her. An unfair and selfish choice I couldn't even feel guilty about making to refrain from comforting the one person that would, until she breathed her last breath, do whatever she had to do to console me.

     "You both did what you had to do. To protect me. To save me. I never blamed you, Mom."

     She looked up at me with hopeful eyes, but her next words hadn't carried a shred of the emotion. "But you never forgave me, either."

     My silence gave her the answer she already knew. Forgiveness was not something that I could say for certain would or could ever be bestowed upon my parents for what they had done. Years may have passed since then, but time could never heal those specific wounds.

     No matter how old they were.

     "Why do you suppose they started again?" Her swift subject change was accompanied by a quick swipe of a few fallen tears.

     I knew exactly why they had started again. But was I going to reveal those reasons to her just yet?

     Absolutely not.

     With a final look into her eyes, short enough to prevent her from prying but still long enough to assure her that I was fine, or, at the very least, would find a way to be on my own, I brushed past her. Our conversation was over, whether she liked it or not. Whether I wanted it to be or not. "You'll know soon enough when I bring it up in the pack meeting later today."

* * *

     Was I majorly sleep deprived and, thus, unable to make the smartest and most sound decisions, particularly in the dead of the night when being stupid and rash could land you in a world of trouble?

     One could argue so.

     Were there a hundred things I could have been doing, more appealing places I could have been, other than what I was currently doing and where I was currently idling?

     Without a doubt.

     But as I sat in my parked car, staring at the house across the street that I never really expected to return to, I knew that my decision to be there was far from stupid or rash. It was necessary.

     After pulling the keys from the ignition, I stepped out of my car as my eyes did a quick sweep of the area. Apart from the street lamps lining the neighbourhood, the only other sources of light came from the few houses with their outside lights on above the front doors. In certain areas, specifically where I was parked, it wasn't dark enough to be completely hidden from suspicious or cautious eyes. But in others areas, there were more than enough places to go if you wanted to blend into the shadows. Little to no activity was expected, especially given how late it was, but the scarce roads and dead silence had the hairs on the back of my neck standing up because, even without having a visual on them, I sensed that I wasn't alone.

     With no other choice but to shrug it off, I set my sights on the house ahead of me.

     125 Longbottom Drive.

     The house where Ava-Rain lived most of her life with her grandmother.

     The very grandmother I was about to pay a visit to and collect on a long overdue conversation.

     And I made absolutely no promises of keeping my emotions—nor my mouth—in check.

     The quick walk across the street consisted of attempts to figure out the best course of action to take with this woman. Straight to the point with superiority backing me in my corner was my first instinct. But from what I learned about Gladys Washington during the few conversations Ava-Rain reluctantly initiated, she seemed like the farthest thing from somebody that could easily be intimidated.

     I had been sitting in the car long enough to know that Gladys was very much awake. The choice to actually get out of the car never would have been made if I hadn't been certain. There were numerous rooms in the large house with the lights on, something I found odd at half past two in the morning. But it gave me the green light that I needed, and I was going to take full advantage of this opportunity.

     As my feet carried me up the driveway towards the front door, all I remembered was the last time that I walked those exact steps. When my hand knocked on the door, I remembered that same hand being balled up in anger after Ava-Rain walked through that very door in tears weeks ago. There was no amount of time that could ever pass to get me to forget that the spot where I stood was where Ava-Rain and I shared our first embrace. And when the door opened and my eyes landed on Gladys Washington for the first time, I felt that exact feeling of anger that consumed both Ava-Rain and I after she had been kicked out by this very woman.

     There was no sign of confusion as to why some stranger was at her door in the middle of the night. No hint of fear that she might have been in danger. If anything, the fact that she was dressed—not in pyjamas, but in actual clothes—and looked well rested and fully composed almost made me think that she had been expecting me.

     Our eyes only met for a split second before recognition hardened her gaze and anger hardened mine. I had never met the woman. Didn't know much about her, nor had I bothered to pry information out of Ava-Rain about the woman who raised her. If we had passed each other on the street, the only thing we would have shared was the air and sidewalk. But I looked at her like I knew her. Looked at her with an arsenal full of judgments and opinions, all of which I was prepared to use in retaliation to the daggers she was sending my way, with eyes that she had undoubtedly passed on to my mate.

     "You do not know me, but—"

     "I know enough. You are the boy that my granddaughter ran off with, are you not?"

     I scoffed. "She didn't 'run off' with me. You kicked her out."

     "Well, boy, if you came all this way in the middle of the night to rehash old memories, then you've wasted your time. I will certainly not gain the last sixty seconds of my own time back, and to prevent an even greater loss, I will now ask you to leave."

     Old memories? Was she really going to pretend as though Ava-Rain was just some distant, long forgotten memory? As if it hadn't only been a couple of weeks since she forced her granddaughter to leave the only home that she's ever known?

     "I'm not going anywhere. Not until we talk."

     "And what makes you so certain that I could possibly have anything to say to you?"

     "You mean, besides the fact that for the past three nights, you've always been up this late? That you've been wide awake enough to move around the house, turning the lights off when you exit a room but turning on another when you enter a new one because you knew that somebody was watching? Knew that I was that somebody watching. You wanted me to know that you were waiting. So, I think that you have quite a lot to say to me, actually. And you're going to invite me in so that we can finally stop the dance and have that conversation."

     She smirked, the last reaction I would have expected her to make. "Your kind just get braver and bolder by the century, don't they?" She opened the door wider before turning and walking down the foyer.

     'That's the closest thing to an invitation you're going to get,' I thought.

     I stepped inside and closed the door behind me. My search for her didn't take very long because I quickly found her inside of the living room, seated more comfortably than I would have expected a human would be in the company of a werewolf.

     Instead of joining her on the couch, I chose to walk around the area. My movements allowed her to watch my every move, while my own eyes surveyed the room, bouncing from wall to wall and everywhere in between. The wall directly across from where she sat housed a fireplace, and just above its black steel mantel sat a huge plasma television. In typical mantel fashion, it housed a decent amount of photos, but not a single frame displayed a photo of Ava-Rain.

     I picked up a frame that was placed in the centre of the rest. It was of a young girl, no older than fifteen or sixteen. Her eyes were full of light and laughter, and shined nearly as bright as the smile on her face.

     A face almost identical to the one that I had fallen in love with.

     "Ava-Rain looks so much like her," I turned my head and looked over at Gladys.

     She didn't look too thrilled to see me holding a picture of her daughter, but said nothing to reprimand me. Instead, she gave me a close mouthed smile, one that had no intention of meeting her eyes. "Her blessing is my curse."

     The last thing that I ever wanted to feel for this woman was pity. In fact, I wanted to feel nothing for her at all. But I would have been lying if I said that I had not felt the gentle kick released by the blue in response to her obvious sadness. And that temporary lapse of control over my emotions certainly wasn't enough to excuse her nor her actions for the last fifteen years of Ava-Rain's life. But, for a moment, what it had done was help me to, somewhat, understand.

     Understand that Ava-Rain's face was a constant reminder of the daughter that she had lost. Understand that having such an uncanny resemblance around must have bore a pain that only those who had lost a child could fully understand.

     "Please, refrain from leaving fingerprints," were her next words. As cold as they were distant.

     I placed the picture of Ava-Rain's mother back on the mantel and moved to stand in front of the glass coffee table that separated Gladys and I. "I know that you know what I am. And I know this because I spoke to the Hellands, who—I'm sure I can rightfully assume—know that you know what they are, too."

     She leaned back, folding her arms over her chest as she rested against the couch. "And you want to know how I know? Is that why you're here? Why you've been here for the past three nights?"

     "I'm here because I know about the promise. They told me what you asked of them thirteen years ago, and I want to know why."

     My talk with the Hellands had been about more than just me trying to determine whether or not I could trust them. More than just a talk about pure bloods, and me asking them to take care of Ava-Rain while I dealt with pack issues. I had been made aware of certain information that I had no choice but to keep from my mate until I knew for certain that it wouldn't put her in even more danger. Until I could determine whether or not it would break her even more if she were to know. And the only way for me to decide between clueing her in or keeping her in the dark solely depended on whatever answers I could extract from the woman seated across from me.

     Gladys' response didn't come right away. However, what she did do was move her gaze to three different locations in the span of a couple of seconds.

     The first location was to her left, her eyes not having to stray very far at all. Only to the lone pillow that filled the empty spot next to her on the couch.

     The second location was made known with a slight twist of her head, an action so minuscule that the said location would have remained a secret had it not been for her lingering gaze. Still lowered, her eyes grazed over one of the hardwood floorboards.

     And the third location happened to be in my direction. Specifically, the mantel behind me.

     Any other pair of eyes might not have thought much of her actions, but I was fortunate enough to have had more than one to guide me through life. He knew the three locations and their significance long before her eyes had betrayed their locations. He knew that all three harboured a weapon.

     The first spot most likely held the biggest one due to the width and length of the cushion it was hidden underneath, and its location made it the most accessible to her. The pillow had been perfectly placed to thwart off any idea I might have had when I first entered the room to join her on the couch. The second must have held the second largest, the 'just in case' weapon in the 'just in case' spot. And the third, well, I had already known what that location held because I had caught a glimpse of its reflection off of one of the pictures. A small pocket knife, secured to the back frame of an old picture of a gentleman that looked to have been about in his thirties when the photo was taken.

     What was only an assumption before was now a confirmation. Gladys had been prepared for my arrival. And I was beginning to get the feeling that she had been prepared for it long before I entered Ava-Rain's life.

     Once her eyes found their way back to mine, she loosened her posture, but not enough to come across as relaxed. "Thirteen years is a long time to remember such things."

     "I'm pretty damned certain that you haven't forgotten. They haven't." While maintaining our eye contact, I walked around the table until my feet carried me directly in front of where she was seated. "I think it would be quite difficult for hunters to forget such a request."

     My invasion of her personal space wasn't meant to intimidate her. I simply wanted her to see that I had no intention of dragging out this ruse, nor the time or patience to allow her to continue playing this game. I was there for one thing and one thing only.

     The truth.

     If she felt threatened in any way, she didn't show it. And there was more than enough time to reach for her weapon if she had. Instead, she released a deep sigh, conceding to her defeat. "Why?" She shook her head, not out of refusal to answer but I think in disbelief. In annoyance. Maybe even in frustration. "For the same reason that you're currently standing in my living room. For the same reason why there have been hunters surrounding my house for days. Perhaps it's for the same reason why humans are always the ones who end up paying the ultimate price when your world spills into ours."

     "And what is that reason?"

     She uncrossed her arms and stood up. With narrowed eyes, Gladys stepped closer to me. I don't know what she was searching for when she looked into my eyes, but whatever it was that she found had caused her face—masked with anger only moments prior—to soften. And just as quickly as it had done so, it turned into a blank expression just before she turned and walked away.

     "The world is going to burn one day," she said as she made her way around the couch, "and the flames will take us all if we are not able to fly above them."

     "What is that suppose to mean?"

     "If you don't already know," she tossed over her shoulder, "then you will burn, too."

     Refusing to allow our conversation to end like that, my frustration compelled me to call out to her. "You asked them to train her!" Like I had hoped, she stopped walking just before she was able to leave the room. But she kept her back turned on me, and there wasn't a tall tell sign that indicated that she had any intention of facing me again. "We both know that hunters are born, not created. Is she...is Ava-Rain a hunter? Were her parents? Are you—"

     "No."

     "Then why?"

     It didn't make any sense. How did Gladys know of my world? Humans were not meant to know about wolves and hunters. But she knew. She knew more than what she should have known. More than what she was allowed to know. And that sort of information could put her life in danger.

     "Why do birds fly south in the winter?" Her voice was calm. So calm that it was almost. . .haunting. "Why do bears and lions sometimes eat their own cubs? Why do wolves hunt in packs?"

     Whether her riddles were just ramblings, or her ramblings were riddles, I couldn't say for sure. But what I did know for certain was the answer to her nonsensical questions: that life would always be a game of 'survival of the fittest', and within every creature laid an innate capacity for self-preservation.

     But what the hell did that have to do with Ava-Rain? More specifically, what the hell did that have to do with Gladys wanting Ava-Rain to be trained by hunters?

     She started to walk away again, but not without leaving me with parting words. "Only the strongest will survive in this world. And it's a dark world," she reached out towards the wall plate to the right of the archway, "far too dark for daughters to roam."

     With a quick flick of the switch, the whole room erupted into darkness. And I wasn't entirely sure if she had done it to emphasize her last statement, or if it was just her way of telling me without having to ask me to leave.

     "I take it you can see yourself out." She had not even bothered to wait for a response before she began to make her way down the hallway, turning off more lights along the journey. The clicking of her heels quickly began to fade, but she was taking more than just steps away from me. More than just the answers I had come there for. Gladys was taking her secrets with her.

     Secrets that she held onto more tightly than her own granddaughter, who she had not once asked about during our whole conversation.

* * *