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Let the record show, that Christopher Gerard Argent thought this was a bad idea.
Not only did the Beverly Pack have a history of not trusting hunters, but he wasn’t even sure what it was they were hunting.
His father, great man that he was, thought there was enough evidence that a feral werewolf was living in Beverly territory and that, as the Pack was doing nothing to stop the monster from harming innocent human lives; it was up to the hunters to do so.
Chris wasn’t quite sure what gave Gerard the power to make such decisions, but seeing as his Matriarch (and mother) was still too deathly ill to intervene and her heir (his sister) wasn’t even 10 yet, he supposed his father was just trying to help in whatever way he could.
Still, going onto a pack’s land unannounced on the word of rumours, seemed like a bad idea, even for him. However when Chris tried to voice his concerns, his father had pushed them away with a ‘don’t be naive Christopher. They’re werewolves.' as if that explained everything.
Which, Chris supposed, to his father, it did.
And with that they had loaded themselves up with enough weapons and ammo to survive a day in the zombie apocalypse and set out for sunny Los Angeles, ready to bag themselves a feral werewolf.
But of course, things don’t always go as planned.
“Shit.”
Chris cursed as looked around him. He wasn’t quite sure how or when he had gotten separated from the group, but he decided it didn’t really matter as he searched the forest for the exit.
His father would so have his hide when he got out… if he got out.
The sun had started setting an hour ago, and the dark was fast approaching. He turned on his torch and shined it into the foliage in from of him. Golden eyes shined back at him through the darkness. He quickly lifted his weapon.
“Now, now, little huntsman. Play nice, or else I won’t help you get out of the woods.”
“I don’t need your help.”
“Really? So you’re not lost?”
Chris didn’t say anything, but kept his weapon trained as the werewolf left the relative darkness of the trees. His grip slipped a little as he got a good look at the wolf. The golden eyes had faded to a light blue, and they were glinting in the last remains of light.
His lips were tugged up in a cocky smile and he walked with a self assured confidence that was only slightly cautious; as if he knew the danger he was in, but felt he could handle it.
Chris readjusted his weapon.
“Tut-tut, and here I am trying to be helpful. Maybe I should just go.” He turned slightly as if to leave.
“No! Wait.” Chris cursed himself for not being more prepared, for not having got a good idea of the layout of the forest, or ways to get out of it before he set foot inside. He swallowed his pride and lowered his bow, though he kept it loaded as he spoke, “I… could use some help.”
The wolf gave him a smile that was all teeth and Chris wanted to punch him.
“Well come on then.” And he gestured to the right, which was, for reference, the opposite direction to which Chris had been walking.
Chris raised an eyebrow.
The werewolf raised one back.
And then, they started walking.
...
"Well this is boring,” Peter said after a while, “So tell me, what are you doing, lost alone in the woods, little huntsman?"
“I could ask you the same, golden wolf.”
Peter raised an eyebrow and Chris was chagrined to realise he was blushing in his embarrassment.
“Golden Wolf?"
“Shut up.” He mumbled.
“No, no, tell me more. Does the sun shine out of my ass? Or am I more of a Midas situation?”
Chris rolled his eyes, “If you were a Midas situation, I doubt you would be here in these woods.”
“No, I don’t suppose I would be.” Peter replied as he pushed a branch out of his face absently. “But you didn’t answer my question.” He stated, after a little more time had passed.
“Am I to assume you don’t already know?” Chris said in disbelief.
“Why would you assume that?"
"You didn't come looking for me?"
"Maybe I did, maybe I didn't. That doesn't answer why you were out alone in the woods."
Chris considered his words and coincided with his point. He wasn't sure, however, if he should be sharing information with an unknown werewolf, so he just shrugged and turned back to face the endless trees in front of them.
He could feel Peter's burning gaze on him for a while but paid it no mind. He knew when to keep his mouth shut.
"Coffee, or tea?" Peter eventually asked, and Chris looked at him in surprise, not having expected the question.
"Uhh, coffee." He replied. He hesitated before adding, "but I prefer hot chocolate to that."
"Marshmallows or plain?"
"Plain."
Peter made a sound of disagreement but didn't comment on it.
"What about you?" Chris asked. Peter looked at him with a raised eyebrow, "Coffee or tea?"
"Tea."
Chris hummed and then thought up his own innocuous question to ask the strange wolf who was helping him out of the woods.
Things continued on like that for a while, trading innocent questions and answers to pass the time, and it didn't feel like that much later (though the now pitch-black forest said it must have been at least a good hour) until they step forward, out of the forest and on to concrete. Chris could see his father’s van still parked at the opposite side of the car park, his father and his men illumed by the light of a street lamp. He turned to look at Peter and thank him, but Peter wasn't there.
“Till next time, little huntsman.” He heard, but couldn’t see the wolf even with the aid of the carpark lights.
“…aren’t I older than you?” Chris muttered, and he swore he heard laughter as he made his way across the carpark to his fathers armoured vehicle.
They never did find the rogue omega.