The Were's response did not go unnoticed, but Bill hardly seemed ill at ease. What did he have to worry about from a young pup? Besides, he had no quarrel with the wolf. He was just curious. About the town, about the man, about everything that went on in this forsaken town that Nan Flanagan sent him. He could have been back home in Bon Temps, sitting on his porch, enjoying a True Blood (Type O Positive,) the sticky Louisiana air settling on his cold skin. But no. He was in Pennsylvania, waiting for -- What? A supernatural undercurrent to erupt beneath the Earth?
It was evenings like these that made him regret involving himself with The Authority. He missed being just another vampire in another kingdom, living beneath another silly Queen. Hell, he even missed being ordered around by the Sheriff. (And he'd never really had much of a relationship with his Sheriff.)
He continued to walk down the sidewalk in the direction of the Were. His stare was intrusive, cautious. He'd heard rumor that the Weres in York might not be kin to the Weres in Shreveport or Mississippi. Actually, he'd heard similar rumors about the vampires, but he had yet to meet one of them.
When he came within conversation distance of the man, Bill nodded his head.