He was barely recognizable. One eye was bruised shut. His bottom lip was split, and dried blood stained his mouth and chin. His shirt was shredded down the front like a five-fingered lion had ripped into him.
But it was Dorian.
He wasn't dead. Beaten? Battered? Yes. But alive. My heart leaped with joy. I said his name again, balling my hands into fists at my sides. "Dorian."
He grunted as though I awakened him where he stood. His good eye peered at me, and a smile spread across his glorious, broken face. "Snow?"
An aching sob tore at my throat. "What are you doing with him?" I demanded through gritted teeth, my gaze flipping from Christopher to Sharra. "Give him to me," I demanded.
"With pleasure," Christopher said, shoving Dorian toward me. I caught him.
"Missed you," Dorian whisper
