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A Drunken Fantasy

The room around Clarence swayed as he brought his fourth, or maybe fifth, bottle to his lips. Downing its contents, he throws it against the ground and then slumps onto his bed.

"Fuck!" he growled, throwing his arm over his eyes as if it would stop the fucking spins. “What the hell?"

So far, no one had managed to find a single trace of Amelia, and despite knowing he shouldn’t give two shits if she was dead or alive, Clarence couldn’t stop the torrent of emotions in his body.

‘Mate,’ Griffin whimpered, causing Clarence’s frustration to grow more. ‘Find her.’

‘She isn’t our fucking mate!’

That’s right. She wasn’t Clarence’s fucking mate. She was a damn succubus that tricked him with her powers, and that was why he couldn’t stop the attraction he felt toward her.

‘But her abilities were blocked,’ Griffin counters, showing Clarence a picture of the ring that Amelia always wore. ‘She was sincere.’

Sincere. There was nothing sincere about a fucking succubus. They were evil, and they pretend
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