"The best kind," Biffy said. Having learned how to fight as a gentleman, he'd boxed at White's and gotten quite strong in the process but they'd always known when to concede with dignity. Or at least an offer of a drink after. Darrow's own Fight Club was a more vicious thing, better suited to a werewolf than a vampire's drone.

With a sly smile, Biffy glanced over at Krem. This close, the myriad of scents was more distinct. "And how many took you home to mop your wounds?"