(Filling the Alan Deaton & Peter Hale square on my @teenwolfdrabbles​ bingo card, my twenty-second entry, and another bingo.
TW for implied/referenced human trafficking.)
“I am told you’re the man to see.”
Peter Hale’s words were as mystifying as his appearance at Deaton’s animal clinic. The vet knew the only pets this particular Hale family member kept were the human kind.
Fortunately Peter had come just as Deaton was about to lock the clinic’s doors, so there was no one to hear:
“Bodies. I need some. Live ones. Please.”
“Mr. Hale, you are mistaken—”
“I’m close friends with certain clients of yours, so no need for—”
“Mr. Hale, please go.”
“No need,” Peter paused emphatically, “for pretense.”
Deaton paused too, out of growing exasperation.
“Mr. Hale, I repeat, your impression of the business I conduct is erroneous.”
“I’m sure it isn’t.” Peter smiled as if at a mere misunderstanding. “I’d like at least three. Young, of course, healthy. Pretty, of course.”
“Get out.” It was far from often Deaton ever got this angry. He reminded himself to lay a line of mountain ash, not just across the clinic’s entry but around the entire property. He’d always done so but then stopped.
He remembered why he’d stopped.
“You haven’t seen the last of me,” were Peter’s parting words as the door slammed in his face.