Forget Me, Hate Me, but Don’t Love Me

Chapter 5: Cries of the Past

The politics of the Iradel Pack have never been simple. It has always been a delicate balance of power, alliances, and calculated moves. My territory is between cliffs and rivers, and it is more than just a pack's domain—it is a strategic stronghold. Every move I make and every alliance I forge is with the future of this land in mind. We are surrounded by packs that envy our resources or want to undermine our influence.

Our pack sits in the perfect position. We control the river routes, so we have access to trade that other packs can only dream of. That is why the Vivek Pack seeks our favor because they know that without our shipping routes they can't move their ink through the Crescent Moon pirates' territories. Our biggest strength is that we can stay neutral in most pack wars. While the smaller packs fight their battles for scraps of territory, we have held our ground and waited. We only step in when it benefits us, and that is why we have stayed on top for so long.

But we still have enemies. Packs like Ramus's that thrive on rebellion have been gaining power. He has been pushing the boundaries for years, testing our strength and looking for weaknesses. Even though his pack is smaller, it is gaining momentum, especially with backing from other disillusioned territories. His rebellion is not just about power; it is personal. After all, Ramus is my half-brother. He is the result of my father's infidelity, a constant reminder of the mistakes that ruined my family.

My relationship with my father was strained, to say the least. He was a man who saw strength only in dominance. He ruled with an iron fist and crushed anyone who showed weakness. That included me. I learned early that there was no room for mistakes or softness. My father made sure of that. But it was not until his affair came to light and Ramus was born that everything fell apart. He never acknowledged Ramus as a true son, but the damage was done. Our family fractured, and Ramus eventually broke away and formed his own pack—a pack that has become more of a thorn in my side than any other.

Ramus's pack may be growing, but his rebellion will never succeed. If it comes to war, I will make sure he is crushed under the weight of the Iradel Pack's strength. He deserves it for trying to undermine everything I've built and for daring to challenge me. If he ever comes knocking on my door, I will be ready to level his pack to the ground. No hesitation, no mercy.

I don’t understand him. Lucian. Every time I think I'm beginning to see a c***k in his cold guise he seals it up tighter than before. He calls me for breakfast and lets me use his credit card like it's nothing, but when it comes to real questions about us and about my past he shuts me down. It's like he keeps me at arm's length and gives me just enough freedom to wander but not enough to learn the truth.

Delilah and I went to the mall today. It was a rare break from the heavy atmosphere of the pack house. I wasn't sure why Lucian allowed it. He let me go shopping and act like everything was normal when it was anything but. I loaded the bags into the car and I saw Delilah's silent concern the whole time. She never spoke of it but I could feel the weight of what she didn't say.

On our way back as we pass through the winding paths that lead to the pack house I spot something. Far from the main estate an old man struggles to move a large barrel. He looks frail and hunched over and the sight of him makes me pause.

"Who is that?" I ask curiously.

Delilah stiffens beside me. "Ignore it. That area isn't for you."

But I can't just look away. The old man is clearly struggling.

"He looks like he needs help," I say firmly and dump my bags into Delilah's arms before she can protest. I hurry toward the man and ignore her calls for me to stop.

As I get closer I notice the area around him. It's different. It’s quiet, almost too quiet, and the air feels colder. The ground under my feet changes from soft dirt to something harder, maybe stone. And then I see them—the tombstones. There are only a few but they're beautiful and pristine as if they have been crafted with care.

As I approach, the man looks up and his weathered face shows surprise and a hint of worry.

"You shouldn't be here," he mutters and straightens when I reach him.

"I'm just here to help," I say kindly and I grab the edge of the barrel to help him roll it to the wheelbarrow. The man is nice enough but there's something about him that seems off.

As I glance around my eyes land on three tombstones close together. The names on them are clear and the dates are engraved on stone. My heart races as I take slow steps toward them.

"Mara, no!" Delilah's voice echoes from behind me and her footsteps pound against the ground as she runs to catch up. But I can't stop. I'm drawn to them and pulled by something I don't understand.

The tombstones stand in a small neat row. Two of them have dates; the third is left blank.

Cole Curbin

April 2006 - May 2006

Cory Curbin

April 2006 - May 2006

The last tombstone reads:

Curbin Jr.

April 2006 - (Blank)

"What... what is this?" I whisper and my fingers brush against the cold stone. As soon as I touch it the memories hit me like a slap.

Cries. Babies crying. Pain. Loss.

I stumble backward and my breath catches in my throat as tears burn my eyes. My hands shake uncontrollably so I wipe them on my jeans to ground myself.

"Luna, please, don't go any further!" Delilah begs urgently.

But I can't pull my eyes away from the empty grave and from the dates that don't make sense. Isn't it still 2006? And who were these children? Why do their names strike something deep in me?

I barely have time to process what's happening when I hear his voice.

"What are you doing here?!"

I snap my hand away from the tombstone and turn to see Lucian striding toward me. His eyes are bloodshot and red and his veins are pulsing with anger. Delilah and the old man are already groveling before him and begging for mercy. They tried to stop me, they say. They didn't want me here.

But Lucian's eyes never leave mine. His rage is palpable and he steps closer; each footfall is like a hammer to my chest.

"Who led you here? What are you doing here, desecrating this place?"

"Desecrating?" I stammer nervously. "I just saw... I don't understand."

"It doesn't matter!" he snaps harshly. "Leave. Now."

But I can't leave. Not yet.

"Who were these children?" I ask shakily. "Why did they die so young?"

Lucian's fists clench at his sides; his knuckles are white and his entire body trembles with contained anger. He turns toward me slowly and his eyes narrow as a bitter chuckle escapes his lips.

"Who were they? Mara Hicks, you're asking me that? Really?"

I take a step back, fearing what he'll do. I'm so confused. "Yes," I whispered. "I don't... I don't remember."

He advances on me and his presence is suffocating.

"You don't remember a thing, do you? Not a single damn thing about the last five years of your life?"

I feel the weight of his words crush down on me.

"No... no, I don't. I remember... finishing community college. My parents in the retirement home. My sister getting married. I moved from town to the city. That's it. I... I'm sorry, but I don't remember anything else."

Lucian's hand shoots up and trembles as if he's fighting some inner battle. But just as quickly he lowers it and looks away.

"Take her away," he orders coldly.

"No!" I shout desperately. "But who were they? Please, tell me!"

Delilah rushes forward and grabs me by the arm, pulling me back.

"Quiet, Luna. Please, be quiet."

She drags me away as I watch Lucian. He doesn't move. His eyes are fixed on the tombstones and his face is hard as stone. The old man scurries away and disappears into a nearby shack as Lucian kneels down beside the graves. His hand rests on the damp earth with his head bowed, and for the first time I see it.

Tears.

Alpha Lucian is crying.

Could it be that…

They…

Are they... his children?

But no, that’s impossible.

Then who am I to Lucian?

And what the hell is everyone hiding from me?