He shakes his head. I’m flooded with relief. “Okay. She’s Were. Then why—” I stop.
Because Lowe shakes his head again.
I know what Vampyres smell like, what their needs and limitations are. And Ana is not one of us. Which leaves one single other possibility.
“No,” I say.
Lowe says nothing. His knife clinks against the side of the plate, and he crosses his arms on his chest. His expression remains anchored in a way that makes me utterly unhinged.
“It’s not possible. They . . . No. Not both.” Why is he silent? Why is he not correcting me? “Genetically, it’s not . . . Is it?”
“Apparently.”
“How?” There are so many levels of impossibility here. That a Human and a Were would even want to engage in what’s necessary to produce a child. That it would work, physically. That it would have con
