Truce and Lies

Grant: plane ride

                  Aidan insisted on carrying our backpacks and blood cooler to the car. My father seemed a little wary of my werewolf boyfriend, and I had difficulty seeing Aidan through his eyes. Aidan didn't seem threatening in his loose plaid shirt, his tousled dark hair and smiling gray eyes. He sat shotgun as my father gave him an incredulous look.

"If Grant sits here, he'll bite you," Aidan said. "And if I sit in the back, then you're like our weird chauffer and that seems rude. I'm not going to shift and tear your leather seats if that's what you're worried about."

My father rolled his eyes. "You are Grant's type for sure. You're fine, I'm sure I'll survive."

Aidan reclined in the seat and smiled at me. "Full disclosure, I love road trips," he said. "It's too bad part of the trip is via plane, but that'll be cool too. I've never been in a small plane."

"You're so weird," I replied.

I sat back and breathed in, noting that my father's scent wasn't too strong, at least yet. I was a little worried about this plane trip, but I had Aidan and he could lock me in a closet or something if we needed to. My dad pulled out of the driveway and we headed down the road just as Susie Lynn's bus pulled up and she hopped out. She frowned at the car but continued toward the house.

"So do you still hunt?" Aidan inquired of my father. "No offense, you just seem a little, you know, old."

My father laughed. "No. I coordinate drone strikes and recon. Though less strikes since we made a mistake in Missouri. I used to be in charge of the southern region of hunters, but we handle hunting state by state nowadays. Packs seem to be getting smaller, but the same cannot be said about vampires."

"Why is that?" Aidan asked. "It seems insane that any pack would want to be in the city. Too many smells, not enough to hunt and no space to run. How do they get caught then?"

"Most packs stay in suburban areas," Peter explained. "Not the city proper. And most actively hunt humans, so hunters follow that trail back to the den. Werewolves are notoriously messy killers."

"And you just kill any you find?" Aidan pressed.

My father glanced at him. "Why do you want to know?"

"I want to know what I'm walking into," he replied. "I want to know if they'll stab me on sight or if the hunters will give me a chance to explain my presence. I've never hunted human, never wanted to. But I know my temper and I don't want that getting unleashed accidentally by some dumb human stabbing me in the arm. Because Peter, if it had been my mother who shot me this morning, I would have probably killed her."

"Fair," my father admitted. "I haven't had the chance to call her; do you boys think you could be quiet for a minute?"

"Sure," I said.

My father dialed and the phone trilled on the console of the car.

"Hello Peter," my mother's voice said.

Aidan stiffened, and I leaned forward to place a hand on his shoulder.

"Sasha, did you shoot our son?" my father inquired, skipping any sort of pleasantries.

She scoffed. "Of course he'd call you. I thought he was going to bite me. I was defending myself."

"You thought our son was going to bite you." My father voice was icy. "From what I've heard, you probably would have deserved it."

"Peter," she complained.

"I can't believe you would go to Montana to interrogate him," he said. "And I can't believe that you would consider killing him."