I looked over at Ted, who promptly filled in all the gaps. Because, by then, I was tired of telling the story. “Any ideas?” I asked him, once the tale was told. “Why I changed? Why they’re so scared of me? Why Mitzy isn’t? Why Steven wants me in the pack when no one else seems to?”
He sat down on a chair off to our side. “You never met your great-grandfather, did you, boy?”
“Long dead before I made the scene,” I replied. “Why? He was the last werewolf, right?”
My grandfather nodded. “In our line, yes. Had himself a pack up in the Mendocino area, long before they started growing grapes. Was nothing but farm country when he was a kid.”
Ted interrupted. “In our line, you just said, sir.”
“Call me Derek, please. Only my parole office calls me sir. When I think to check in with him, I mean
