Kyle is already halfway to a sip before she offers a toast and he regretfully waits. At her words, he smiles with the anger still on his face and clinks his glass against hers.

"Fuck werewolves," he retorts without thinking, then casually adds, "Not you, obviously."

He doesn't sound too apologetic about it. Mostly because Skip isn't actually a werewolf in his mind, more a human with a specific set of weaknesses. Not like Alex or the Russian bear or fucking James Memon. Like what kind of a name is that anyway.