The Alpha's Betrayal Ignited A Monster's Wrath

I was born a monster, a natural killer by the time I was six.

My sister, on the other hand, was the opposite. She was everyone’s beloved, their shining light. And she was mine, too.

For ten years, my mother locked me in a hidden chamber, and only my sister would visit me.

But a decade later, my sister was carried back to us, her body broken, her face ruined, drenched in blood.

For the first time, my mother unlocked the chains that bound me. Her voice was thick with hatred as she hissed, “I want you… to kill everyone who harmed your sister.”

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In our pack, twins were considered a curse.

After we were born, my mother built a hidden chamber and took turns presenting either me or my sister to the world.

But that changed when I was six.

At six years old, I felt an unexplainable urge to explore the body of a rabbit I had raised for two years.

I used my claws to slice it open, then carried its mangled corpse to my mother, grinning.

She fainted in horror. When she woke, she grabbed a whip and lashed me until I was covered in blood. But I didn’t feel the pain. I just stared at her, cold and indifferent.

“Monster. You’re a monster!”

She locked me in the dark chamber for a month to “reflect.”

During that month, I idly played with the bloodstained claws. Only my sister would visit, bringing me food and toys.

But I wasn’t interested in those. I grabbed her hand, my eyes bright as I said, “Sister, catch me another rabbit to play with, won’t you?”

Her face paled, but she forced a calm expression. “Kori, why did you open the rabbit’s belly?”

“Because I felt something moving inside. I wanted to see what it was,” I said innocently.

“I see… Well, maybe you’re meant to be a healer,” she said softly, though her smile was fragile. “But you can learn about animals from books. I’ll bring you some next time.”

I was stunned, staring at her as if she were some strange, fascinating creature.

She was the first person who didn’t call me a monster. The first to try to understand why I did what I did.

I wanted to tell her I wasn’t interested in being a healer, but her smile was too delicate, so I swallowed my words.

Eventually, my mother relented and let me out. But the first thing I did was claw a maid in the eye.

My sister was soft, never one to hold grudges, but I wasn’t like her.

During the month I was locked away, that maid had spread rumors about my sister, calling her a monster. She’d even tried to force my sister to drink some foul concoction of herbs and ashes.

No one knew there were two of us—only my mother, her trusted maid, and the pack’s elders. To everyone else, the one who killed the rabbit was my sister.

When the maid bent down to hand me a bowl of tainted soup, I slashed her with my claws.

It was fascinating. A soft “pop,” and it was done.

I poured the bowl of soup into the gaping wound where her eye had been.

“A gift for you.”