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I realised my breathing had shallowed, and the hand on my throat had started to move a little, my thumb lightly stroking over my pulse point and making me shiver.

Oh, and I had an absolute rager of an erection.

It felt like I’d never been this hard in my life. The two wrestlers’ non-stop fuckfest at the motel last week was still keeping me extremely well nourished, but this wasn’t about feeding my need as an incubus. This was pure lust aimed solely at the gorgeous, snarling werewolf currently beating the crap out of an orc.

How the Hell had I forgotten about B. Were after meeting him that time? How could I have forgotten this magnificent creature? He was godlike, stunning in his primal, aggressive beauty.

He had to fuck like an absolute beast to match the energy he was throwing out.

Ten minutes later, he won his match against Menoetius, and I wasn’t remotely surprised. B. Were’s massive chest was heaving with exertion as he stood with his hands on his hips, taking a few seconds to catch his breath now the fight had ended, but he didn’t look exhausted at all. There was still energy coiling in his muscular limbs as he helped Menoetius to his feet. The orc was still conscious, but barely, and he hadn’t had the strength to protest when the ref called the match. He swayed dangerously on his feet, bloody saliva trailing from his parted lips as he hung his head and leaned heavily into B. Were’s side. The werewolf murmured something in his ear, and the orc flashed him a weary, bloody grin as B. Were began to help him out of the ring.

I almost swooned for the millionth time. He was helping his opponent after beating the shit out of him? That was so sweet of him. What a gentleman.

The crowd was already starting to disperse, losing interest quickly now that the promise of more bloodshed was gone, or eager to collect their winnings after winning their bets. I didn’t move at first, just watched B. Were as he practically carried the huge orc through an unmarked side door into a dimly lit corridor on the other side.

“Enjoy it, sweetheart?” the gargoyle asked me cheerfully, thumbs flying over his phone screen and a triumphant grin on his face. He must’ve won big.

“I… That was…” I was still clutching my throat. As the door closed behind B. Were, I heard myself say, “I’ve actually met him before.”

The gargoyle’s brow quirked. “Who?”

“Fenrir.” I licked my dry lips. “He’s actually a wres—”

“Hey.” The gargoyle interrupted sharply, glancing around and leaning down to my level. “No. We don’t talk about the fighters’ real lives in here. Everyone stays as anonymous as they can.”

“Oh.” I blinked. “Sorry. I didn’t know.”

He rolled his eyes but gave me an affectionate little smile. “That’s, like, the number one rule of fight clubs, sweetheart.”

I flushed. “Well, I didn’t know that. It’s not exactly common knowledge.”

The gargoyle’s brow quirked. “I mean, it kind of is—”

“Do you think—” I licked my lips again, glancing at that unmarked door. “Do you think I’d be able to… go and say hello to him?”

I didn’t know what I was doing or why I was saying that. I’d met B. Were once. Once. It wasn’t like I knew him. It wasn’t like he’d remember me—some random incubus from one of the many meet and greets he’d no doubt done.

And I still had a very hard penis, so it would probably be quite impolite to go and introduce myself to him again right now.

The gargoyle was gazing down at me with a knowing look. After a few seconds, he flicked a glance just behind me, then huffed in amusement as the corner of his mouth quirked up.

“Sure. I actually know one of the guys running the place, so I can get you back there to say hello.”

“Really?” I breathed.

“Yep.” He glanced behind me again, lip curling. “Just you, though. No one else.”

“Why would I go back with anyone el—”

“Niko, are you ready to go?” Hot breath suddenly wafted over my nape, making my shoulders hunch, and I remembered Clarence in a rush.

Oops. Clarence.

“How about that strawberry wine and a moonlight walk in Tirnal Park?” he gusted over my neck in a low, sultry voice, and I found myself meeting the gaze of the gargoyle in front of me with a somewhat pleading expression.

He cleared his throat, levelling Clarence with a stern look. “Actually, Niko here—”

“My name’s Klaus,” I supplied quietly.