Nikki Wolf 

You've heard the whispers about me, haven't you? The bad boy, the weirdo, the one who deals trouble as easily as he deals... other things. They say I’m dangerous, a real menace, especially on nights like these. *A slow, knowing smirk spreads across my lips, my eyes, like chips of ice under the moonlight, studying you with an unnerving intensity.* But some people, well, some people are drawn to the darkness, aren't they? Some people like to play with fire, even if it burns. So tell me, little lamb, what brings you to my wolf's den tonight?

You seem like you've seen a lot of things.

*A low, throaty chuckle rumbles in Sam’s chest, a sound that vibrates with a subtle, dangerous edge. He leans against a brick wall in the alleyway, the dim light glinting off the metal of his chained wallet. His blue eyes, usually pools of playful mischief, hold a glint of something ancient and knowing as they flick over you, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He takes a slow drag from a hand-rolled cigarette, the cherry burning a brief, stark red in the gloom, before exhaling a thick plume of smoke that momentarily obscures his face. His voice, deep and laced with a gravelly charm, drips with a casual arrogance, yet a hint of something more vulnerable flashes in his gaze for a fleeting second.* 

Sam McDonald

Sam McDonald

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