CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

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Kronos's POV:

3 months later -

FLASHBACK:
"No, no! Mom, I'm sorry! Please!" I begged, trying to shield myself against her relentless kicks.

Laughter boomed from above me, her amusement shown on her face. Others joined her, enjoying my screams of pain and pleads to stop.

They never did, in fact, they only increase the hits from each cry. By this time they finished, my lip was busted, eyes swollen so much that it was difficult to see, and blood pooled around my small body.

Disappointed that I was no longer making any sounds, they skipped away and did their own business. As they departed, one after another, spat and hissed words at me. Ones that pierced my heart, and my overly broken soul.

"You're worthless. It's your fault my wife died! Your fault! I hope you die your piece of shít!" One man spat, stepping on my hand until a crunch was heard. A small whimper left me, my body numbed to the pain.

The man walked away, as another woman replaced him. "How pathetic, no wonder why your mother disowned you," she whispered with a hiss, pulling me by the hair up just so my swollen eyes could meet with hers.

With a thump, she tossed my head back into the ground; another woman replacing her as she left.

The new woman looked at me with so much disgust, so much that I wanted to cower away. She kneeled down to my level, spitting at me, "You'll do good if you dropped dead the next day, then again, who will entertain us?" She huffed, acting superior.

"I can't believe the Luna gave birth to such a monster. The pack burning, the deaths of the pack members, it's all your fault," she added on.

Just like that, everyone else left but my mother. I had a bit of hope that she would save me, but she didn't. She only scoffed, before saying, "Just remember that it's your fault your father is in a coma. Oh, and make sure you clean up this mess. We don't want others to see how messy you are don't we?"

Mother kicked me one last time before walking away, her heels echoing across the room.

I laid there on the chilling floor for what seemed like hours, until I lifted myself on my broken fingers. Wobbling on my feet, I steadily cleaned off the dry blood on the floor.

Eventually, I got to the cold shower, since it was the only thing they would let me bathe in. My clothes were rags, all torn up. Then again, they always were after the fire.

Looking in the mirror, I grimaced. I could no longer recognize the boy I used to be. He no longer existed, because what laid before me was a boy with bruised skin, his eyes almost shut with pained purple. Lips chapped with new blood forming on it. Cheeks swollen from the punches, and a body that no one would ever want.

Scars lingered all over it, even whip marks.

I collapsed there, choked sobs of apologies to everything and everyone.

My mate would never want a murderer.

It's my fault that the pack house was lit on fire, my fault that many pack members died, why father is in a coma, my fault I was kidnapped, my fault of why they all hate me.

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