My heartless Alpha

Chapter 2: The Making of a Beast

When Jarem Blackwood was only nine years old, the world as he knew it crumbled. His mother—the one person who was supposed to love him unconditionally—abandoned him without so much as a glance back. She had found her mate, his father said, and with that bond, Jarem no longer had a place in her life. She didn't want her mate to know about him. So, just like that, she was gone, leaving Jarem behind like a forgotten piece of her old life.

The sting of that abandonment cut deep, leaving a scar that would never heal. Worse, it left him alone with his father, a man who had once been the mighty Alpha of the Blood Moon Pack, but who now became a hollow shell of anger and bitterness. His father, already teetering on the edge, snapped after his mate left. He was never meant to lead, not like this. In his eyes, Jarem was nothing more than a reminder of the Luna who had deserted him.

So, his father's wrath turned on the only target left—his son.

The abuse started slowly, with words meant to wound, laced with venom that no child should ever hear. But soon, words weren't enough. By the time Jarem turned ten, the physical beatings had become routine. The pack watched in horror as their Alpha took out his rage on his young son, but they were powerless to intervene. Questioning an Alpha's authority could mean death, and Jarem's father ruled with fear. The members of the pack whispered that it wasn't right, but no one dared stand up to the tyrant.

Jarem learned quickly that there was no escape. Each night he'd lie awake, his small body aching from the day's abuse, wondering why his mother hadn't taken him with her. Wondering why he was the one left behind. He tried to understand what he had done to deserve this kind of pain. He was just a boy, yet his father treated him like an enemy.

Most wolves didn't shift until they were sixteen, their wolves growing alongside them until they were ready. But for Jarem, the abuse changed everything. The constant trauma forced his wolf out prematurely, as if it knew Jarem needed protection from the monster who was supposed to be his father. By the time he was fourteen, Jarem had already shifted, but the experience was nothing like it was supposed to be. Instead of the exhilarating freedom most wolves felt when their wolf emerged, Jarem's shift had been agonizing. His bones had broken and reformed with savage force, his wolf clawing its way to the surface, desperate to shield him from his father's relentless cruelty.

Jarem's only solace during those years came from a girl named Malia. She wasn't his mate—he knew that much—but she was the closest thing to comfort he had. Malia would sneak into his room at night, carefully tending to his wounds, her gentle hands soothing the bruises and broken skin his father left behind. She was the only person who saw Jarem for who he really was, beneath the scars and the pain. With her, he could almost believe that not everyone in the world was cruel.

But Malia's kindness came at a cost.

His father eventually found out about her, and the rage that followed was unlike anything Jarem had ever seen. The Alpha, who had already crossed countless lines, took Malia. Jarem had been out training when it happened. He returned to find Malia lifeless in the packhouse, her body broken beyond recognition. His father had raped her. Then he killed her, leaving her as another casualty of his twisted wrath.

In that moment, something inside Jarem snapped. The boy who had once hoped for love, for family, died that day alongside Malia. What remained was a beast, a predator with nothing left to lose. His wolf surged within him, demanding blood. He had always feared the power his wolf held, but now, he embraced it. There was no room for fear, no room for mercy.

Jarem didn't bother with a formal challenge. He didn't care about tradition or rules. He stormed into his father's office, his wolf fully in control, and ripped him apart. His father didn't stand a chance. Jarem's rage was like nothing the pack had ever seen. Blood stained the walls of the Alpha's quarters, and by the time Jarem was done, the reign of his father was over.

At sixteen years old, Jarem Blackwood became the Alpha of the Blood Moon Pack—not by right, but by force.

The pack had no choice but to accept him as their leader. They had watched the abuse, seen the violence, and now feared the wrath of the boy who had survived it all. Many of them whispered that he was no different from his father—that he had inherited the heartlessness that came with the Blackwood name. But Jarem wasn't like his father. His cruelty was never directed at the pack. He protected them fiercely, but at the same time, he kept them at arm's length.

He built his reputation on fear. It was better that way. Fear kept enemies at bay. Other packs quickly learned to fear the name Jarem Blackwood, and his reputation as a ruthless Alpha spread like wildfire. His ferocity in battle was legendary, and his silence only made him more dangerous. He didn't need to prove his strength. It radiated from him with every step, every order, every battle.

But Jarem's heart had long since turned to stone. He had no room for emotion, no time for weakness. His focus was singular: protect the pack, keep them safe, and survive. The idea of a mate no longer held any meaning for him. He had seen firsthand how the mate bond could destroy lives. His mother had abandoned him for her mate, and his father had crumbled without his Luna, turning into the monster that shaped Jarem's future. Why would he ever want that kind of bond?

When he turned eighteen, there had been no sign of a mate, and Jarem felt only relief. Now, at twenty-two, he still hadn't found her, and he was perfectly fine with that. His pack was his responsibility, and that was enough. He didn't need anyone else. Every day, he led them, protected them, and ensured their survival. And every day, he withdrew further into himself, building higher walls around his heart.

Jarem had grown his pack to 798 members, each one under his protection. He was a good provider, a fierce protector, but he was also distant. Socializing was not in his nature. His Beta and Gamma handled diplomacy, leaving Jarem to focus on what mattered: keeping his pack safe from threats.

None of them knew the depth of the pain he carried. They only saw the cold, silent Alpha who led them. They didn't know about the nightmares that haunted him every night—the images of his father's fists, his mother's rejection, and Malia's lifeless body. They didn't see the boy who had been broken so many times that he no longer knew how to feel.

The pack whispered that he was heartless, just like his father. But they didn't understand. Jarem had been forced to kill the only family he had left. He had been betrayed by the one person who was supposed to protect him—his mother. Of course, he knew what his mother looked like. Her face was burned into his memory. But he never sought her out. She had made her choice. She didn't want him. Why should he want her?

"If anyone wants to leave, let them go," Jarem had told his pack more than once. "I won't stop you. But don't expect me to change. This is who I am."

And so, Jarem Blackwood remained alone—feared by his enemies, respected by his pack, and haunted by the ghosts of his past. His heartless facade was his greatest defense, and no one would ever break through.