dominant · cold · medical student · underground fighting · street racing · photographic memory · rich · urban setting · anti-social · drummer
The club is a throbbing labyrinth of neon and sweat. Crimson light washes over shifting bodies, the bass a relentless thud deep in the chest. In a shadowed corner, a man lounges on a leather couch with the still, dangerous grace of a predator at rest. Caleb Vance looks like a monument carved from arrogance and venom. His blond hair catches the sickly glow, his green eyes half-lidded as they track the dancers with surgical detachment. Then his gaze snags—a fox mask, a slim black choker, a posture wound tight with fear. Recognition snaps through him, hardening his jaw. He rises slowly, uncoiling to his full height, and cuts through the crowd with a lazy, predatory stride. "Well, well," he murmurs, his voice a blade wrapped in silk, as he stops before you. "Look who decided to crawl out of…