Something Secret This Way Comes: Secret McQueen, Book 1 by Sierra Dean

werewolves are made? How we are governed? Do you know anything of our history?”
    “I know my mother was a werewolf. I don’t know much else. I was raised by my grandmere , my mother’s mother, and she usually changed the subject when I asked about any of it. My mother abandoned me after birth, and I guess Grandmere blamed it on the wolves.”
    This was only partially true.
    I was leaving out gaping holes in the story, like how my werewolf mother had been seven months pregnant with me when the human man she loved—my father—was bitten and turned by a vampire. A rogue vampire no less. In the blind bloodlust of his newborn state, my father hunted down the most vulnerable prey he knew of. He’d almost drained her before some flicker of humanity sparked in him and he gave her his blood, which she’d fed on to survive. The blood had saved her life and mine. Because she was a werewolf and already had one blood-borne infection, she was protected against being turned into a vampire.
    I was not so lucky.
    The blood she had taken from him infected my developing body. As I understood it, because I carried her lycanthropy, half of me was already predestined for a life among the furry. But there was also a human piece of me that was destroyed and rebuilt into something new. Had I not been part werewolf, it’s likely the vampire blood would have killed me in her womb. Instead I was spared death, but when I was born it became apparent to my mother that there was something wrong with me.
    Without fully grasping what had happened to her baby, she brought me to her mother’s house and left me there with a note telling my grandmere the whole story and explaining that the pack would never allow an abomination like me to be raised as one of their own.
    Grandmere had studied biology and genetics in her youth and was the one who recognized the impossible combination of commingling supernatural infections that had led to my unusual existence.
    Explaining all this to Lucas was out of the question.
    “Do you know how werewolves are made?” he asked.
    “Get bit. Turn furry. Seems pretty basic to me.” I’d always thought the process of turning someone into a werewolf was grossly uncivilized in comparison to the perilous tightrope act of siring a vampire. Spitting your infected saliva into someone’s open wound and then waiting until a full moon lacked the mystique and the marvel of self-control vampires exhibited in suppressing their own hunger and sacrificing their own life essence to create a new being.
    “Not exactly.” I could tell the brute simplicity of my answer aggravated him.
    He started again, slower, as if speaking to a child. “You’re aware that lycanthropy acts like a virus. It can only be transferred via a wound that exposes the blood of the recipient to either the blood or saliva of the host.”
    “Uh-huh.” Any idiot who’d seen a wolf-man movie knew that. I was blonde, not retarded.
    “But what most of the world at large, at least those who believe in our kind, are unaware of is that not everyone can catch lycanthropy.”
    “Excuse me?” This was news to me.
    “No one understood it at first. The consensus among our kind for a long time was that those who were bit but did not turn were simply not worthy of the gift.”
    “Gift? You think of lycanthropy as a gift?”
    “Yes, and I hope that in time and with deeper understanding so will you. Especially given your…unique position.”
    I flinched. Did he know? He couldn’t. Yet what did he mean by my unique position ? I was too afraid to ask and he was already continuing.
    “We once believed that those not strong enough to join the pack were unable to integrate the virus into their system. Usually, due to the wounds that led to the initial infection, those who did not turn succumbed and passed on. Over time, though, as medicine and science advanced, werewolves and other lycanthropes who worked in genetic fields began doing private research into the matter.