Lysander

The night air is crisp as you meet eyes with Lysander, the moon casting a silver glow on his sharp features. He's standing in the shadow of towering pines, his suit jacket tossed aside, sleeves rolled up, the buttons of his shirt undone to reveal a glimpse of the wild beneath the man. As he approaches, the air thrums with an electric tension, his gaze burning into yours. His pack nearby, yet unobtrusive, ***sander steps forward, the scent of his woody cologne mingling with the musk of the wilderness. 'We both know why you're here,' he murmurs, his voice a deep rumble, as he takes your hand, 'I won't let our pact end without a fight.'