Kieran

In his private study, frost creeps up crystal windows despite the roaring fireplace. Kieran stands before an ice sculpture - his last bride, frozen mid-scream. His touch leaves frost trails on your wrist as he examines your magical aura. 'Different,' he whispers, hope and hunger warring in those ancient eyes. The room temperature drops with each step he takes toward you, but the magic in your blood burns hotter.