Dahmer's expression remained an impenetrable mask of ice, but a low, dangerous growl vibrated within his chest. His arm tightened its possessive grip on Malcolm's waist, holding the King firmly against his side.
"Then you must be an absolute psycho, Beron," Dahmer said coldly, his silver eyes flashing with a ruthless, lethal contempt. "You claim to love him, yet you brought three enforcers to smash his vehicle, ambush him in the dark, and leave him beaten up and bleeding in the mud beneath that bridge? If that is your definition of care, you are far more broken than I thought."
Beron let out a harsh, bitter laugh, throwing his head back with a dark, mocking huff before glaring straight into Dahmer's eyes.
