Chapter 4 FIRST NIGHTMARE.

"Damion, are you in there? I know you're there, so let me in!" Kenzo's voice, persistent and edged with impatience, reverberated through the door. I sighed deeply, running a hand through my hair, feeling the weight of the day's frustrations settling on my shoulders.

"Alpha, should I let him in?" Luke inquired, his tone respectful yet slightly weary. Luke was not just any subordinate; he was the leader of my soldiers and one of my most trusted confidants. The bond we shared went beyond mere duty; it was forged in loyalty and mutual respect.

"No, Luke. Kenzo may be my beta, but he's insufferably annoying, especially at times like these. Just keep him out," I replied, trying to mask the irritation in my voice. It wasn't that I disliked Kenzo; he was capable and loyal. But his relentless questions and need for approval grated on me, particularly when I needed solitude.

"Yes, Alpha." Luke turned to leave, his boots making soft thuds on the wooden floor. I hesitated, then called him back.

"Let's drop the 'Alpha' title for now, especially with our guest here. We don't want to intimidate her or make her feel out of place."

Luke nodded, understanding the subtle shift in protocol. "I'll inform the others," he said before disappearing down the dimly lit hallway, his silhouette blending into the shadows.

As the door clicked shut, a familiar voice broke the silence. "So, when are you planning on talking to me?" Grey's voice carried a hint of amusement, mixed with curiosity. His sudden appearance was almost ghostly, a trick of light and shadow.

"About what?" I asked, feigning ignorance, though I knew exactly what he was hinting at. Grey had a knack for pressing on sore spots, probing until he got a reaction. Perhaps I should have included him in the 'keep out' list.

"Do I really need to spell it out?" He stepped forward, emerging from the darkness with a fluid grace that belied his sharp, cat-like features. His grey eyes, a perfect mirror of my own, bore into me, making me feel like I was staring at a version of myself-one that was both familiar and unsettling.

"Fine, if you must know, she was supposed to be my last client. But she slapped me and tore up our contract. Damn, I was furious," I confessed, my voice tinged with frustration. The memory of the encounter flashed in my mind-her anger, the sting of her slap, the sound of paper tearing.

"Really?" Grey's tone was both intrigued and dismissive as he licked his paws, a habit he retained from his feline nature. It was a strange sight, this anthropomorphic figure with the instincts of a cat, and it never failed to unsettle me.

"Yes, and could you stop doing that? It's irritating," I snapped, feeling the tightness in my chest intensify. I began pacing, trying to shake off the agitation that had been building up. The room felt smaller with every step, the walls closing in.

"So, if she upset you so much, why is she in our house? In our bed?" Grey's voice was light, almost teasing, but there was an underlying seriousness that I couldn't ignore.

"Don't say 'our bed' again. It's not like I had a choice," I retorted, running a hand through my hair again, a nervous habit I had never managed to break.

"Of course you had a choice. You could have let her go. There are plenty of other women who'd jump at the chance to escape this world and live with the forest goddess, nurturing nature for us werewolves," Grey pointed out, his gaze drifting toward the bed where the woman lay sleeping, oblivious to our conversation.

"Did you miss the part where she slapped me?" I shot back, frustration lacing my words. It wasn't just the slap; it was everything that came with it-the shattered contract, the broken trust, the feeling of losing control.

"You seem fine. A slap can't hurt you, or did it bruise your pride?" Grey's eyes twinkled with mischief as he jumped onto the bed, his movements fluid and effortless. He sat, staring at the woman with an expression that was part curiosity, part amusement.

"Sometimes, I wonder how we ever managed being bonded. Maybe being separate isn't so bad after all," I mused aloud, my voice softer now, tinged with melancholy. The bond we shared was complex, a mix of companionship and shared destiny, but it also felt like a chain binding me to a life I sometimes wished I could escape.

"Believe it or not, Damion, we can't exist without each other. If you die, I die. And if I die, you die. We might not be like every other werewolf, but that doesn't mean we're not one," Grey reminded me, his tone sobering. It was a truth I often tried to forget. The reality of our intertwined fates was both a comfort and a curse.

I sighed, feeling the weight of his words. He was right, of course. Our lives were inextricably linked, and no matter how much I resented it at times, I couldn't deny the bond we shared. "I need to clear my head," I muttered, heading towards the bathroom. The cool tiles underfoot were a welcome relief from the heated emotions swirling within me. Tonight had gone completely awry, and I needed a moment to gather my thoughts.

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**Clara's POV**

"Clara, what are you doing out here? I told you to stay inside." My mom's voice was sharp, cutting through the sounds of the ocean and the creaking ship. Her silhouette was outlined against the dim light of the ship's lanterns, her face a mask of concern and frustration.

"But Mom, I wanted to see the sea at night," I replied, my eyes wide with wonder as I gazed at the endless expanse of water, the moon casting a silver glow that danced on the waves.

"The weather's turning bad, and we might face a storm," she insisted, her gaze flickering between me and the darkening horizon. The wind was picking up, carrying a chill that hinted at the tempest to come.

"Is it so dangerous that I can't sit here and wait with you and Dad?" I asked, my voice tinged with disappointment. The sea at night was a mesmerizing sight, and I longed to share it with my parents, to feel the magic of the moment together.

"Yes. Now, go inside and try to sleep. I promise tomorrow will be better; maybe we can watch the stars with Dad." Her voice softened, trying to coax me into compliance. But I could see the lines of worry etched on her face, the fear she was trying to hide.

"Staying inside is lonely and boring, Mom. Please, just let me stay out here," I pleaded, my voice small against the growing wind. The thought of being cooped up inside while everyone else was out here, experiencing the excitement of the storm, was unbearable.

"Clara, I said no. Let me talk to your dad, and I'll join you in a bit," she said, her tone final. I knew that arguing further would be useless. With a heavy heart, I turned back inside, the door closing behind me with a soft thud.

The room felt colder, the air thick with the impending storm. I huddled under my covers, the sound of the wind and rain battering the ship echoing in my ears. The rhythmic sway of the ship, usually comforting, now felt ominous.

As the storm intensified, the ship groaned under the strain, the creaks and moans of the wooden structure amplifying my unease. Then, I heard a faint noise, like a soft whimper, coming from under the bed. My heart raced, but curiosity overrode my fear. I slipped out of bed and peered underneath.

A small, terrified kitten stared back at me, its eyes wide with fear. It was soaked, its fur matted and dirty. My heart melted at the sight. "Hey there, little one. Don't be scared," I whispered, reaching out a hand. But before I could touch it, the kitten scratched me and bolted, leaving a sharp sting in my hand and a trail of blood.

"Bad kitten, that wasn't very nice," I muttered, inspecting the scratch. But then, an idea formed in my mind-a way to go outside without getting in trouble. If I told Mom I needed first aid, she would have to let me out. I rushed to the door, excited by my plan.

Outside, the storm was in full force. Rain lashed down, and the wind howled, making the ship shudder. Men were running about, shouting orders and trying to secure the vessel. The scene was chaotic, yet exhilarating. But as I looked around, I couldn't see my dad or mom.

"Mom! Dad!" I called, my voice barely audible above the roar of the storm. Panic set in as I realized how alone I was. The crew, focused on their tasks, paid no attention to me. Then, a sudden, powerful wave hit the ship, and I felt myself being lifted off my feet and thrown overboard.

I screamed, my hands flailing, desperately searching for something to hold onto. Miraculously, my fingers closed around a rope, and I clung to it with all my strength, the cold water crashing over me, pulling me down.

"Help! Someone help me!" I screamed, my voice hoarse with terror. The sea was merciless, tossing me about, the rope my only lifeline. My arms ached, my grip slipping with each wave.

"Clara! Clara! No, James, she's gone! I can't find her!" My mom's voice, filled with panic, reached my ears, a lifeline in the chaos.

"Mom! Help me! I'm here!" I shouted, tears mixing with the rain on my face. I tried to pull myself up, my muscles screaming in protest, but the waves were relentless, pushing me down each time I made progress.

"Clara! Where are you?" Her voice was closer now, desperation giving her strength. I could see her, her face pale and drawn, eyes wide with fear.

"Mom! Help me!" I cried, every ounce of my being focused on holding on, on surviving.

"Clara! Oh my God, James, she's in danger!" My mom's voice broke with emotion as she reached out for me, her hands trembling.

"No! Get away from the deck! Grab something and hold tight!" a crew member shouted, warning of another wave.

The last thing I saw was my parents' terrified faces, reaching out for me, just as another massive wave crashed over the deck. The force of the water ripped me from the rope, and I was plunged into the cold, dark depths of the ocean. My parents were gone. My parents were gone because I didn't listen. The sea spat me out, but my parents were never found.

I woke up drenched in sweat, my breath coming in ragged gasps, my body trembling. The nightmare-my first nightmare-haunted me, a constant reminder of the day that changed my life forever. No amount of therapy could erase the images burned into my mind, the guilt that clung to me like a second skin. My parents were gone, and I was left with the memory of their final moments, a wound that would never fully heal.