The arena was louder than Lucien expected.

Not just loud. Violent.

Bass-heavy music shook the floor beneath his sneakers while hundreds of voices crashed together overhead. Camera flashes burst through the dark like lightning. Everywhere he looked, people were wearing black-and-gold merchandise with SETH VANCE printed across the front.

Lucien tugged the brim of his baseball cap lower.

Jemie had bailed on him three hours ago with a dramatic text message about "developing trauma from counterfeit tickets," leaving Lucien to come alone.

Which was honestly worse.

Because now he had to exist in public by himself.

He'd spent twenty minutes changing clothes earlier, eventually settling on oversized denim overalls and a cream hoodie. Casual. Forgettable. Safe.

The cap had stayed on for exactly thirty seconds before he panicked over looking stupid and shoved it into his pocket.

Bad decision.

His hair was fluffy tonight. Too soft. Too noticeable.

At the entrance, a massive digital poster stretched across the front of the stadium.

LEON BOLTON.

Cold gray-blue eyes stared down from the screen.

Black gloves.

Black compression shirt.

Sharp blond hair falling across his forehead.

Predatory.

Even through a photograph, Leon looked dangerous.

Lucien paused long enough to snap a quick picture on his phone.

The angle made Leon appear taller somehow, gaze lowered like he was looking directly at whoever stood beneath him.

Lucien swallowed.

Is that what he sees every time he looks at me?

The thought came out of nowhere and hit him harder than expected.

Probably, he thought miserably. Leon was ridiculously tall.

Maybe there really was no hope left for his height at this age.

Inside, the crowd was worse.

People shoved past him toward the lower seats, shouting predictions over one another. Lucien checked his ticket twice before finding his section.

Close enough to the ring that his stomach immediately twisted.

Of course Leon had given him a good seat.

Lucien sat carefully, shoulders tight.

He hated being alone in crowds. There was always this horrible awareness of his own body—where to put his hands, whether he looked awkward, whether people were staring even when they probably weren't.

The overhead speakers crackled.

The lights dimmed instantly.

The arena exploded.

Lucien straightened so fast his knees bumped the seat in front of him.

At first he could barely see anything past the people standing up around him. Everyone was yelling Leon's name now.

LEON! LEON! LEON!

Lucien tried leaning sideways for a better view and immediately got blocked by a six-foot-something guy holding beer.

Great.

Being short really was a medical condition.

Then the fighters entered the ring.

And Lucien forgot how to breathe.

Leon climbed through the ropes in black athletic gear that clung to his body like a second skin. Black gloves. Black shorts. Broad shoulders rolling loose beneath the stadium lights.

His blond hair fell slightly into his eyes as he flexed his taped hands once.

Calm.

Completely calm.

Not nervous. Not excited.

A wolf right before the kill.

Something lodged hard in Lucien's chest.

He'd seen Leon angry before. Seen him dangerous.

But this—

This was different.

This was Leon in his territory.

The crowd loved him.

No.

They feared him.

The realization sent heat crawling up Lucien's throat.

Then Leon looked up.

Directly toward Lucien's section.

Gray-blue eyes flicked across the crowd—

Stopped.

Just for a second.

A tiny pause.

Then Leon's mouth curved slightly at one corner before he looked away again.

The screaming around Lucien doubled instantly.

Lucien licked his lips.

His throat felt weirdly tight.

The first round started.

Lucien knew absolutely nothing about professional fighting. Nothing. He'd never even watched clips online before tonight.

Which meant the first time he saw Leon take a punch, his entire body locked up.

The sound alone was awful.

Gloves slamming into flesh.

Heavy breathing.

The sharp skid of shoes against canvas.

Every hit made Lucien tense harder.

By round six, he realized he'd been gripping the edge of his seat so tightly his fingers hurt.

By round eight, he felt sick.

And when Leon took a brutal hit to the ribs in round ten—

Lucien forgot to inhale.

The world narrowed violently.

Then Leon moved.

Fast.

A brutal right uppercut.

The other fighter dropped instantly.

The arena detonated.

Fans were screaming on their feet while the referee grabbed Leon's wrist and lifted it high above his head.

Winner.

Leon barely looked winded.

Lucien finally exhaled.

Only then did he realize his entire body had gone cold.

Jesus.

It was just a fight.

Why the hell was he reacting like someone had held him at gunpoint?

He stayed seated after the match ended, waiting for his heartbeat to calm down.

People poured toward the exits around him.

His phone buzzed in his pocket.

Lucien assumed it was Jem.

Instead, Leon's name flashed across the screen.

For a second, Lucien just stared at it.

Leon had literally just won a championship fight.

People were still chanting his name somewhere deeper in the arena.

And he was calling him.

The phone kept vibrating.

Lucien answered quickly. "Hello?"

"I told security to let you through backstage."

No greeting.

No hesitation.

Just Leon's low voice sliding straight into Lucien's ears.

Lucien blinked. "...Why?"

A beat of silence.

"Aren't you going to congratulate me properly?"

Heat rushed straight into Lucien's face.

"I already did."

"Not in person."

Leon sounded amused now.

Dangerously amused.

"VIP entrance," he said. "I'll wait for you."

And somehow—

somehow—

Lucien found himself turning against the flow of the crowd, heading toward backstage like he supposed to be there.