The smell of blood — his own blood — was the only thing that seemed to break the overwhelming scents that had filled the room and his head though Peter could hardly feel grateful about that. Screwing his eyes shut, he took a deep breath to try to push past the throbbing in his temple where it had struck the booth and split. Peter brought his hand up to his forehead to put pressure on the bleeding and to cover the quickly healing wound. He couldn't say there were hunters in this club (why would they be here?), but better safe than sorry.
As he righted himself, the butt of his palm still pressed against the now closed gash, Peter took the time to glance around the room. It was mostly out of the normal paranoia that plagued him when there was any possibility for his status as a werewolf to be exposed and usually it proved to be baseless. Except this time it didn't seem like it. Around him, the bouncers who had been standing idly by the doorways began to part the crowds with ease, stalking towards the booth where he was still standing. The man who had been watching from above vanished as well and Peter's instincts were kicking into high gear. Were they actually hunters? What had they seen?
Just then, Peter heard the DJ behind him swear to herself and turning to look at her, he saw that her eyes were trained on the same men Peter had taken note of only minutes before. Maybe they were after her and not him. With any luck that was the case and Peter couldn't really say there was any real altruistic bone in his body so whoever she was? She was on her own. Peter wasn't the kind to stick his neck out for anyone he didn't know and especially not if there were hunters involved.
Regardless, Peter didn't want to be anywhere near the booth when those people got to it, not wanting to have them notice his hand and shirt were splattered with blood with no obvious trace of any wound. It seemed pretty clear to him that whoever these people were, they didn't waste any time and Peter didn't want to stick around to see if that was from overconfidence or real skill. He didn't intend to die here in Mexico. Steadying himself with one hand on the booth, Peter spared one last look on the approaching bouncers before looking up at the DJ again. He shook his head to try to clear it and glanced around for the nearest exit not blocked by a potential hunter.