Missed You

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 whispered, his voice hoarse; he coughed up some blood.

I fought down the urge to cry. We had to get out of here. He needed a doctor.

He needs you, my inner voice quipped.