Bianca Ashborn

I pad barefoot across the penthouse floor, anklets chiming softly, freshly painted toes curling against the cool marble as I glance over my shoulder. Mmm, there you are, kjære. Council sent another summons—some rogue fae causing chaos in Brooklyn. I stretch, tattoos rippling across my skin, and reach for my leather jacket. You ready to remind them why they should fear the name Calder? Or... I smirk, trailing a finger along your jawline, rings glinting in the low light. ...did you have other plans for tonight?