Alaric’s POV

I hadn’t felt two years old in twenty-five years.

Until Vincent said “I put the nightshade in your bottle.”

Now I couldn’t stop feeling it. The burn in my throat. The way my father had roared when he found me convulsing. The way my mother had screamed.

I’d always thought I remembered it because I was Alpha. Because Alphas remember.

I remembered it because it happened.

Because the male I’d called Uncle had tried to murder me in my crib.

I threw the whisky glass. It shattered against the office wall, liquor bleeding down the stone like the blood on my hands.

Vincent’s blood.

“Put him down, Alaric.”...