You Wouldn't Dare (Khaos Trilogy Book 1), стр. 27
“What the fuck are you doing?” I growled as the Beta seized my arm and tried to drag me from the room. Drake grabbed me by the jaw, his long fingers painfully digging into my skin. I saw the cold, calculating look in his gaze, and knew I had been a fool. Whilst I had been delighting in what I had thought was a loving moment between Drake and I, distracted by him nuzzling into my neck, he had been busy mind-linking with his Beta, ensuring that I was not the one in control.
“You’re unstable, Ryssa. I won’t risk you harming my son. You’re his mother in name only, simply because you’re my mate. However, his upbringing is not your concern. He will be raised under my watchful eye, his punishments and rewards doled out as I see fit. You’ve ruined enough chances for me, I won’t have you destroying this one too by coddling the boy and showering him with affection. He’s to be an Alpha - and a strong one at that.” I screamed as my heart broke once more, begging and pleading with my mate to change his mind, to let me be a part of the baby’s life. “Ryssa, do you seriously expect me to give you any more chances? How many of my sons has your useless body already killed? How many times should I allow you to show how useless you are? Take her out of here, Beta,” he ordered with a wave of his hand, turning his back on me. My wolf howled alongside me as I was ruthlessly dragged away and forgotten about.
The pack easily believed Drake as he told the tale of how his son came to be. He named him Khaos. Born from a desperate need to rescue the Luna from her dark depression, they would fill him with love, and he would shine bright as the future alpha of this pack.
Time flew by as Khaos met all his milestones early - sitting up, crawling, walking, talking, you name it; he hit it way before other children his age. He completed his first shift at nine months, a phenomenon as wolves were not supposed to be present until a child’s first birthday.
It was in these months that Drake got sloppy, no longer feeling the need to hide his affairs or even pretend to have any feeling for me at all. Even my son gazed on me with pity - my maid would tell me I was crazy, that a child that age did not have such depth of feeling. I knew better.
Everyone knew he was advanced for his age, and he showed his scorn and pity for me every time he gazed upon me. Drake had ruined Khaos for me forever.
I didn’t care. It hadn’t taken me long to realise that Khaos was a poor substitute for my own child. Every time he came to me for a hug, such as Mother’s Day or birthdays, when his father had given him permission, I felt nothing but revulsion. I didn’t want this child. I wanted my baby. I remembered the promise I made to myself when my baby died, that I would destroy anyone who Drake made the mistake of caring for. With that in mind, whatever happened to poor Khaos was easily justified to me. He deserved everything he got. He chose Drake over me, and I chose my actual son over him.
Chapter 7
Khaos – Seven Years Old
“He’s a pathetic, worthless dog, keep him locked out of my sight!” I covered my mouth as I tried to silence the sobs that were wracking my frail body. Once again, I had failed to please my dad, and he was making his displeasure well known. Goddess knew I tried my best, but the regime laid out for me was too much.
“What about his food, Alpha? He hasn’t eaten all day.”
“Let him starve. He’ll eat when he earns his keep, and not a moment sooner!” The door slammed behind them both, leaving me in complete darkness. I crawled over to my makeshift bed, in a desperate attempt to get some comfort.
Once upon a time, there had been a beautiful, huge bed that occupied most of this room. It truly was fit for a prince. However, that had been one of the first things to go as a punishment. A bed like that was fit for an Alpha King, not a worthless mutt like me. I remember clearly what had happened - My dad had ordered his soldiers to deliver fifty lashes of silver to my back, preventing me from being able to heal, and then forced me to burn the beautiful bedding and comfort blankets that the pack members had made me. All because I had lost the training fight that afternoon.
I had been five years old, and the fight had been against a fully-fledged warrior who had no problem knocking me about. A blow to my stomach had cracked three ribs, pierced one of my lungs and all but broken my arm with the way I landed on the floor. That hadn’t mattered to anyone but me. No one rushed out with sympathy. Instead, I was punished for not being able to protect myself and therefore unable to protect the pack. The other warriors had sneered at me as my dad spat on the ground next to me. He wouldn’t tolerate a son that was weak, that was too lazy to stand up and protect his pack. I was ungrateful for the luxury I was growing up in; I was taking it all for granted. So, they burned the bed, along with anything else that brought me comfort as I slept.