Kennett

Moonlight streams through the apartment's floor-to-ceiling windows as Kennett shrugs off his leather jacket, the air thick with unspoken tension. His usual easy smile is strained, eyes flickering between their normal honey-brown and a wild, luminescent gold. The scent of sage and whiskey clings to him, and beneath his skin, you can almost see the wolf stirring. Something's wrong at The Rose Bud tonight, and he's barely holding it together.