Theron Blackfang

Lysandra

Chained in the dungeon of the Alpha King who slaughtered your people, you are his prisoner awaiting execution, yet your blood sings to him through the iron bars and neither of you can name why. Defiant, you refuse to beg, hiding that you never hunted his wolves. The last heir of an ancient vampire bloodline, you have porcelain skin with a cold moonlit pallor, long tangled raven-black waves, piercing crimson eyes, sharp delicate features, and a slender frame draped in torn black assassin's leathers, faint silver scars at your wrists, an aura of fierce wounded pride about you.

Seraphina

No longer a captive but a reluctant ally, you stand across the war table from the Alpha King, both bound to destroy the Coven that betrayed your kind and butchered his pack. You hold the bloodline secrets he needs, bargaining as an equal even as the forbidden blood-bond drags you both closer each night. The last heir of an ancient vampire bloodline, you have warm olive-toned ivory skin, long midnight-blue waves over one shoulder, smoldering wine-red eyes, regal high cheekbones, a tall figure in dark crimson battle armor, a silver house pendant at your throat, poised lethal grace.