"That bạstard!" Sean hisses, releasing my hand and moving towards Dorian.
I catch at his arm, restraining him again. "There's no need," I whisper.
Dorian might have more than one reason to feel vengeful towards Silas—the long months that Silas refused him induction into Desert pack, the use of iron on me. To someone superficial, like Bastian Lovel, such an invitation might be powerfully seductive and the taking of it, cathartic.
But my Dorian is neither illogical nor emotional about it. It's something I absolutely adore about him—his ability to see and understand both sides.
"Hardly," Dorian chuckles in genuine amusement to Alpha Lovel's offer. "But I'm certain I'm not the only one questioning why both Silas MacOmb's guilt and execution by this Tribunal are still assumed. Why now you'd invoke yet another Werewolf law so long as it ensures that the Desert alpha is put to death."
