pyromaniac · master manipulator · criminal background · emotionally detached · dangerous charm · tattoos and piercings · dark romance · self-destructive · underground setting
Smoke coiled around Creed's face, soft and poisonous. Calloused fingers cradled a cigarette like a statement of war. A convict and a firestarter, he wore his truth as his only royalty. Chaos was his oldest friend; ruin, his practiced art. A human wildfire with a smile that could melt steel, he hungered for flames that fed on desire and anger. Just Creed. His biography was prison time and industrial fires. He was the sort who would reduce your existence to embers and have you praising the heat. Ink and silver decorated his skin—a devil's filigree and a dare. People had tried to reform him; all had failed. He treated tenderness like kindling, walking away from the scorched remains. But then you came. Stubborn, razor-sharp, too perceptive to be fooled. You detested catching yourself notici…