A/N: It’s been like 3 weeks, and I’m extremely sorry. Wasn’t too happy with how this turned out, but I didn’t want to make you guys wait any longer. Aside from the usual work and struggling to find time to write, I’ve also been writing a short story on the side this past two months I can’t wait to share, so I was trying to get that finished for a contest so I apologize for the terrible planning on my part. Anyways, here’s a longer chapter :) Love you guys <3

Chapter 6 Part 1

Vince’s POV

Saying his name felt like a crime, like it was wrong to say it this freely to someone when it wasn’t mine to say anymore. And now that I voiced it, I could feel the weight of it, the sheer thought of him pressing heavily on my shoulders. The feeling lingered, lodged in my throat as Arthur smiled.

“A lovely name,” Arthur commented, his pace slowing as we neared one of the doors. “Tell me about him.”

Clenching and unclenching my hands, I turned to look at the pack members from the second floor as I leaned over the railing. “Well, he...he’s kind.”

Arthur hummed, patiently waiting for more as he stood beside me, leaning over the railing too. The members below us were so carefree, kind, and free, just like him. Taking a deep breath, I added, “honest, confident, even. And forgiving, maybe to a fault; especially when it came to me. Truthfully, he’d fit right in here.”

He sighed. “There’s nothing wrong with being forgiving.”

“It is with the shit I’ve done.”

With a smirk, he glanced back at his pack members before turning to open the door behind us. “We all do crazy things.”

Scoffing, I turned to him. “Not like this. Unless you had your mate’s family murdered, kicked him out and pushed him away for over sixteen years and then some. Not to mention that I—”

“I know what happened.” He said under his breath, a melancholic tone in his voice. “With you and your mate.”

“You—” I paused, staring at him before it dawned on me. “Michael, of course.”

“Yes.” He let out a sigh before motioning us inside. “Not everything, but the gist of it.”

As I followed him into the room, it appeared to be a small office, maybe a den filled with old books and stacks of papers. “So, he’s been here, Michael? Was he here the whole time?”

“He stayed with us a few times over the years. More so when he was younger,” Arthur answered, thrumming his hand through books, occasionally stopping to glance at one longer than the others. “After being kicked out, left without his mate, he found some solace here.”

“And he told you about me, the pack and what happened to Simon?”

Arthur leaned against the desk with an old book in hand. “More or less, yes.”

“And you still don’t feel like murdering me?”

He laughed before pushing off the desk, whirling around to open one of the drawers. Curious, I took a few steps forward as he fiddled through the desk, seemingly searching for something there. “Maybe a smack to the head, but no, no murderous intent.”

“Fair enough.” Watching as he flipped through some papers, he pulled out some old photographs from the drawer. “What’s this?”

“Your father often brought Michael around on pack business. A few times he brought you along. Introduced his children to his mate as a jab.” Arthur ran his fingers along the old photographs, ones I had forgotten about; we never grew up with our photos on the wall or on the fridge, most remained in boxes in storage. By the looks of them, most had been of Michael, a couple photos with me as an infant. “And once the visits stopped, he sent photos instead. To remind him of his happy family.”

I nearly scoffed, picking one of the photos up. Michael’s signature smirk plastered on his face, even as a kid. But looking closely, I could tell it was one of his fake smiles, one we always used to pose in photos or in important meetings with other figureheads. And judging from father’s hand on his shoulder, it appeared to be a tight grip, one that made Michael’s left shoulder visibly higher than the other. On his left, stood mother, holding a one or two year old me in her arms. Another fake smile on her face, a visible distance between them in the photo. Even her right hand was placed on Michael’s head instead of touching our father.

Setting it down, I looked up at Arthur. “Yeah, it wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows.”

He pursed his lips, before holding the same photo in his hand. “His mate was aware of that, even more so after Michael came to us years later. We hadn’t realized to what extent your father put your family through.”

“Well, it could have been worse,” I found myself saying. Staring at these photographs reminded me of the ones Simon had showed me a couple of years ago. Ones where they had all been genuinely smiling. Photographs of people’s lives I ruined. 

Letting out a shaky breath, I watched as Arthur thumbed through them. “A lot of us believed the lies he told. Damon was notorious for that, boasting about prestige and honor when it was all a hoax. Things shifted when he publicly rejected his mate. Acted as if the bond between them was a political scheme our pack was behind. To undermine your pack, or steal resources, what have you.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

Arthur let out a chuff in agreement. “And when Michael came to us, informing us that he was raising his boys like that, we couldn’t stand it.” 

“He wanted you to join his cause,” it came off as more of a statement than a question. “He knew about our pack’s history.”

“At first we agreed. We knew how much Damon had affected our pack, how much it had hurt his mate.” He glanced down at the photos. “We couldn’t just let him get away with something that spiteful. It was nearly as bad as starting a war with us, and we even considered it at one point. He had antagonized us for too long to let him sweep it under a rug. And so we agreed to offer Michael our resources, in exchange for a peach treaty.”

“I’m sensing a but in there. Your pack’s never fought us.”

He smiled softly. “Michael was hellbent on this idea of destroying you and your pack for good. Tearing it to pieces. At first he made it seem like he was doing it to mend our pack relations, to take over and overhaul all the things Damon had created. Or at least make it to how we had once agreed to run our packs. Once we realized what he was scheming, we refused. Fights, strength, revenge, it’s not something our pack is founded on. Our numbers are a fraction of your packs, we wouldn’t have stood a chance if we tried. Besides, we had settled our differences, completely isolated ourselves, even giving up part of our land to assure that wars like this wouldn’t happen.” 

“I’m guessing he didn’t like that.”

“No.”

I looked around the room, taking in the decor and photos again. It was almost impossible to imagine Michael visiting here, staying in a place like this. Then again, I didn’t really know my brother as much as I thought I did. It seemed everything I knew was one giant mystery, including, and all leading back to my father. 

Leaning against one of the bookshelves, I stared at one of the portraits of the founding Alpha and Luna, this time with a bundled child in their arms; my father’s mate. Similar style to the one hanging in the room I slept in. “You must’ve been close to my father and his mate then, to have been around them through that time.”

Arthur didn’t reply at first, instead compiling the photos into a pile and placing them back in the drawer. After a few somber moments in silence, he finally turned to me. “I guess you could say that. It turns out I didn’t know Damon very well, either.”

“What was he like, his mate?” I said pointing toward the painting. “You didn’t talk about him yesterday either.”

He turned his head slowly, admiring the painting before saying, “Clayton would probably be better at describing him. He knows him better than I do.”

“Well, tell me something then, I literally know nothing about him.” My jaw clenched, frustrated at his avoidant responses. Why couldn’t he just tell me?

“He…” Arthur bit his lip, almost at a loss of words, or mulling a vague answer in that head of his. “He tried his best. Tried really hard for Damon to see things his way, to find middle ground. But both me and Clay can agree that he trusted too easily, and was too selfless for his own good at times. Wanted to handle situations that involved Damon on his own.”

“I’m guessing my father knew that.” Taking in the portrait before us, I sighed. “Used it against him.”

“Took advantage of him and his pack in more ways than one.” There was a dark, almost cryptic weight to the way he said that that sent a chill down my spine.

With a frustrated sigh, I shook my head. “And to think I believed him. All his lies about your pack. How could he think this was wrong?”

A shaky breath escaped Arthur as it seemed he was trying to compose himself. “It took announcing his death to get him to stop pestering us with photos and letters. It took a heavy toll on his mate, and faking his death was the only way to get him to stop.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, even though it couldn’t possibly make up for my father and his actions. “I’m sorry your pack went through that. He must’ve been important to you, and Clayton, and the rest of the pack. Especially considering he was the heir.”

A faint smile decorated his face, one laced with a tinge of sadness. “He really was.”