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67. Alaric

Alaric

The sound of a bowstring disturbed the silence and Alaric frowned as he watched the arrow hit the mark. Off. He was off by a few inches. He walked back to his supplies and took another arrow, nocking it. His hands were bloodied. He’d been at it for hours.

There was no better way to get rid of his anger than imagining his enemies head as the mark.

Alaric didn’t think he was mad, but then, most psychos didn’t think they were psychos.

Marrying within the family wasn’t new in Lycanthia. The oldest families of royals didn’t believe in tainting the bloodline, and Alaric shared in the sentiment. He could never get around to settling down or choosing himself a bride.

Not when his beautiful niece had been born. He’d gazed upon her as a child and known immediately. He’d tried imprinting on her severally, but the connection never snapped into place. It didn’t matter much. He’d already claimed her to be his from the moment he set eyes on her.

The soft cru
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