Lucien's hands were blocks of ice.

He paced the cramped backstage area… rubbing his palms together until they stung.

"Get it together, Lucien," he hissed in French, his breath hitching.

The thought of all those eyes in the audience made his joints feel like rusted hinges.

A heavy hand landed on his shoulder, grounding him instantly.

Lucien spun around, his hazel eyes widening.

"Leon? You're supposed to be at the gym… training."

"I said I'd be here," Leon murmured.

Leon didn't ask for permission.

He hooked his hands under Lucien's arms and hoisted him onto the prop table like a porcelain doll.

Lucien's feet dangled… uselessly.

"Nervous?" Leon asked, his gray-blue eyes tracking the tremor in Lucien's lips.

"A little," Lucien whispered, sounding far smaller than he liked.

Leon leaned in… his nose brushing against Lucien's.

"I heard swapping saliva is a medical cure for stage fright," Leon said… his voice a low, dangerous rumble.

Lucien blinked, his logic centers short-circuiting.

"Is that… is that scientifically proven?"

"Don't misunderstand me, baby… I'm just looking out for your health."

Lucien knew it was a trap, but he leaned in anyway.

The kiss was deep… a possessive claim that tasted like mint and took the air right out of Lucien's lungs.

By the time Leon pulled away, the frantic thrumming in Lucien's chest had settled into a heavy, warm ache.

"Stupid," Leon whispered, his thumb catching a stray bit of moisture on Lucien's lip.

"We've done this so many times… and you still forget to breathe."

"Go away," Lucien huffed, pushing at Leon's solid chest.

"The others will be back any second."

Leon gave his hair a final, messy ruffle.

"See me afterward," Leon commanded, stepping into the shadows just as the director returned.

Lily Zhou stopped dead, her eyes darting between Lucien's flushed face and his swollen, red mouth.

"I didn't see anything," she lied… an amused smirk playing on her lips.

"Are you guys finally official… or what?"

"We aren't dating!" Lucien squeaked, his face going nuclear.

Lily just shook her head, handing him a prop.

"Sure, honey… and I'm a professional acrobat."

An hour later, the stage lights blinded him.

Lucien walked out for his minor role… his heart jumping into his throat as he scanned the front row.

There he was.

Leon Bolton sat like a bored king among the students… his broad shoulders filling out a tailored suit that made him look like a billionaire heir instead of a boxer.

His gray eyes were locked on Lucien, ignoring the lead actors entirely.

Lucien felt the weight of that gaze… an anchor in the sea of faces.

During the finale of The Butterfly Lovers, Lucien found himself crying in the corner.

It was a sad story… and his French-influenced heart was a sucker for a tragic romance.

After the curtain call, he ducked backstage and scrubbed at his face.

He swapped his servant robes for his own clothes and slipped out the side exit.

The square was packed with students… and a familiar silhouette stood under a lamp post.

Leon was surrounded by a group of elite graduate students.

Lucien hesitated… his "snail" instincts kicking in.

He ducked behind a tree, planning to wait them out.

Leon's head turned sharply… his predatory instinct picking Lucien out of the crowd instantly.

He cut off a girl mid-sentence and marched toward the greenery.

Leon reached behind the trunk and plucked Lucien out by the elbow.

"Hiding?" Leon asked, his voice dropping into that private, rough register.

"No… I just… I didn't want to interrupt."

Leon reached out… his fingers flipping Lucien's messy collar back into place with practiced ease.

"You were crying," Leon noted softly.

"It was a sad play! Zhu Yingtai jumped into a grave, Leon!"

Leon let out a short, huffed laugh.

"Little crybaby."

He caught Lucien's hand and led him back toward the group of waiting students.

"Hi!" Lucien offered a small wave… his voice thin with social anxiety.

"I'm Lucien… I'm Leon's…"

"He's my pursuit target," Leon interrupted… his tone flat and final.

The group went dead silent.

Lucien wanted the earth to open up and swallow him whole.

"We have a date," Leon announced, ignoring the shocked expressions.

"Bye."

He dragged Lucien toward the parking lot… his grip firm and unyielding.

"Why would you say that?!" Lucien hissed once they were out of earshot.

"What? It's the truth."

Leon stopped, caging Lucien against the car door.

"If I wasn't worried about you being shy… I would have kissed you in front of them."

Lucien stared at the "King," realization sinking in.

There was no escaping the wolf once he'd decided you were the prize.

Leon dropped the previous subject, shifting his focus to the hunger growing in Lucien's eyes.

"What are you craving, baby?"

Lucien's phone was already out, scrolling through a list of recommendations from Jamie.

"Honey says this place has the best bolognese in the city," Lucien murmured, thrusting the screen under Leon's nose.

Leon's brow arched, tracking the grainy photo of a dimly lit basement tavern.

"A pub?" Leon asked, his voice dropping into a skeptical rumble. "You planning on drinking me under the table?"

"I'm there for the carbs, not the kegs," Lucien huffed, tucking the phone away.

Leon nodded, steering the car toward the city's darker edges.

The stairs were narrow, slick with god-knows-what and poorly lit.

Leon's hand stayed firm on Lucien's lower back, guiding him through the shadows to ensure he didn't slip.

The air inside tasted like stale hops and old secrets, a vibe Lucien found oddly cinematic.

Lucien leaned his chin on his palm, watching Leon wipe his glass with a clean napkin three times before setting it down.

"You don't look like a guy who spends much time in basements," Lucien teased.

Leon didn't look up, his thumb tracing the rim of his water glass.

"I spent six months in places worse than this when I started fighting," Leon said—his voice a flat—dangerous rumble.

Lucien went still—the noise of the tavern fading into the background.

"Underground rings," Leon continued. "People don't go there to watch sport, they go to watch animals."

"The arena and the betting tables are the same thing," Leon murmured. "You win, or you lose your right to stay in the cage."

Lucien's fingers curled into the edge of the table. "That sounds... terrifying."

Leon looked up, his steel-blue eyes locking onto Lucien's with an intensity that made the boy's breath hitch.

If the younger, more violent version of Leon had found Lucien back then...

He wouldn't have had this much patience.

He would have just dragged the lamb back to his den and locked the door.

Leon's mouth curved into a slow, predatory smirk. "My old ring is just around the corner. Want to see where I grew up?"

Lucien's eyes sparked with a mix of fear and curiosity. "Really?"

They left the tavern with a bag of leftovers for Jamie tucked under Lucien's arm.

The side street was a graveyard of broken glass and leaning shadows.

Three drunks lingered by a trash fire—their eyes lingering too long on the pale—pretty boy at Leon's side.

Leon stepped into their line of sight, a silent, lethal wall of muscle, and let out a cold, wordless glare.

The men scuttled into the darkness without a word.

"Tired?" Leon asked, his voice softening as he turned back to Lucien.

"I'm fine," Lucien lied, though his steps were slowing.

Leon didn't ask, he just bent down and hoisted Lucien up, cradling him against his chest.

"I can walk—Leon!" Lucien protested, his heels kicking uselessly.

"If you're tired, I carry you," Leon commanded, his stride purposeful.

Lucien eventually went limp—his chin finding its familiar spot on Leon's shoulder—his breath ghosting over Leon's neck.

Leon's pace slowed, his grip tightening on Lucien's rear.

"Don't tease me," Leon rasped, the vibration of his voice hitting Lucien's chest.

"I thought you had self-control," Lucien countered, his fingers curling into Leon's jacket.

"For everything else, yes," Leon murmured, his lips grazing the shell of Lucien's ear. "But every time you breathe—I just want to f*** you."

"Shut up!" Lucien hissed—his face flaring a brilliant, indicting red.

They reached a derelict basement entrance, shadowed and smelling of damp concrete.

Leon punched a code into a rusted keypad, the heavy iron door groaning open with a definitive clank.

The interior was a cavern of noise, smoke, and raw, unfiltered adrenaline.

Lucien's eyes went wide, the smell of tobacco and sweat hitting him like a physical blow.

In the center of the room sat a massive iron cage, the chain-link rattling with the force of the combat inside.

This wasn't boxing, it was a blood sport, meat hitting meat with sickening accuracy.

Lucien's breath hitched, his knuckles white as he gripped Leon's hand for an anchor.

Leon didn't offer comfort this time, his eyes were dark, tracking the movement in the cage with a cold, predatory hunger.

A red-haired giant hit the mat, unconscious before his head even bounced off the floor.

The crowd exploded, a chaotic mess of flying bills and desperate cheers.

Leon leaned down, his mouth close to Lucien's ear.

"I'm up next," Leon whispered. "Give me something to fight for."

Lucien's head snapped toward him, horror etched on his face. "No, Leon, don't. You'll get hurt!"

"They can't touch me," Leon promised, his thumb brushing Lucien's lower lip.

He led Lucien to a private balcony—a glass-walled lounge overlooking the pit.

"Wait here," Leon commanded, his gaze heavy.

"Swear it," Lucien demanded, his voice trembling. "Swear you won't get hurt."

"I swear," Leon murmured, pressing a quick—possessive kiss to Lucien's forehead. "Or you can deduct as many points as you want."

Leon stripped off his jacket, leaving him in a dark tank top that did nothing to hide the lethal tension in his shoulders.

The announcer's voice boomed over the speakers, cutting through the noise like a blade.

"The King is back—!"