Peter is no encyclopedia of the supernatural, but he isn't stupid enough to assume that werewolves are the only things that go bump in the night. All the lore has some basis of truth, after all. It's only when Tara bares her fangs that Peter realizes what he's smelling was vampire. Now that - that was a development. He's never actually met a vampire and there's this longing temptation to ask her about her thoughts on garlic and running water.
There's a difference perhaps, in people that are born with their gifts and the people who are turned. The human in Peter has always found itself second place. Werewolves have a natural knack of telling when people are lying or bothered. They can hear a heart rate like a drum in a quiet room. He can sense her hostility with ease. Her words are sharp and he tries to meet them with a practiced grace.
"Is that what they say about us?" he inquires. "That we eat roadkill?"
He manages a hollowed out laugh.
"Hasn't anyone told you that it's bad to listen to gossip?"