"Drink! Drink! Drink!" Violet and Alaric shouted enthusiastically, cheering the two shirtless alphas who were going head-to-head in a drinking contest.
Roman Draven and Griffin Hale were upside down, balancing on their hands with their mouths latched to the hoses as cold beer streamed straight into them.
"One-ninety-seven! One-ninety-eight—"
Griffin had started to choke, his legs twitching in the air. Sweat beaded down his temples, and his grip on the keg hose was beginning to falter.
"One-ninety-eight!"
"Two hundred!"
A cheer went up, but Griffin was done. He sputtered, dropped down onto the grass with a grunt, rolled onto his back, and groaned loudly.
"That's it. I'm done. I saw the Goddess and she told me to stop."
Violet laughed at the statement yet went on counting.
"Two-oh-two!"
Roman was still going, upside down and wild-eyed, his jaw clenched around the tap like a man on a mission. At that moment, he indeed looked like a god of decadence.
