Hazel’s POV
“Do I kill him?”
Alaric’s eyes were still black. Vincent’s face was turning purple, his feet dangling a foot off the ground. Blood ran down Alaric’s claws, dripped onto the stone floor.
One squeeze. That’s all it would take.
And every part of me ,the slave, the daughter, the girl who now knows Vincent kill her mother wanted him to do it.
Say yes, my wolf whispered. Let him end it. Let him bleed for you.
Vincent’s eyes bulged. He couldn’t speak. Couldn’t beg. But he looked at me.
And he smiled.
Blood on his teeth. Choking. Dying. And he smiled.
Because he knew.
“If you tell him I was here? I’ll kill Vincent. Slowly.”
My father. Alive. Tortured for twenty years. Because of Vincent .
Because of me.
“No.”
The word tore out of me. Hoarse. Broken.
Alaric
