My kind was losing its reputation. We once were unpitying, malevolent assassins, known and feared by all creatures. But then, those bloodsucking, daylight-hating vampires showed their pale faces to the world, stamping us out. Because of them, all we had were the birds. And birds weren't very appetizing.
Before the vampires, far back in the beginning of our history, a young man was born. His name was Robert Canis-Lupus. Mr. Canis-Lupus was very strange, an outcast. He could communicate with dogs, and only dogs. Other humans couldn't understand him. Thing was, Robert wasn't even completely human.
Robert was the very first werewolf. He was the first to turn at the full moon. He was the ancestor of our entire kind.
Genetic changes occurred over the years and our kind started to turn at every half-moon as well as the full moon. More years passed and our kind stopped turning back. We adapted into something greater than the half-breeds we were before.
Again and again, our kind tried to meld back into civilization. We were rejected every time and our tempers grew short. Young children were our first targets. Helpless and tiny, human babies were ideal objectives. We fused them into our tribes, unlike what their kind did to us.
But, the unbitten babies soon lost their immunity to our venom, if they had any to begin with. They started to die at the touch of our fangs. We went from that generation and set our sights upon the older ones.
The older children were harder to turn and take into our tribes. Eventually, we stopped bringing turned humans into our kind. Instead, we simply attacked the people for the fun of it. Sometimes, we would even bite to kill.
Then, a few werewolf generations before me, the vampires arrived and broke our connection with mankind. Immediately, we formed a grudge against them.
Our battle was fierce and short. The venom of our enemies transformed our kind, changing at least half of them into hybrids. The hybrids were like us in stature, but had the temperament of a vampire. At first, we accepted them. Then, we merely disliked them. Eventually, we hated them and extracted them from our tribes.
What was left of our purebreds attacked the vampires a second time. We slashed at them with our claws and ripped into them with our fangs. Our venom did nothing to them, but half of what was left of us also got transformed into the hated hybrids.
The night following the second battle, a female werewolf escaped the last remaining tribe to live among the nomadic hybrids. That female was my grandmother. She was accepted into a hybrid tribe and quickly became something of a mockery to the purebreds.
Living with these hybrids caused my grandmother to be considered lowest of the low, about as low as the hybrids themselves. Eventually, she performed an act so repulsive, it was almost crime: she mated with a hybrid. The result was my father, not quite purebred, but not quite hybrid either.
My father grew among hybrid children, learning the ways of the werewolf from the adults. When he had been on the Earth four years, he left his tribe and set out to find the last remains of the purebreds.
Finally, he found them, and with them, my mother. Eight weeks later, my father was integrated into the tribe by the struggling Werewolf Council. He was then allowed to seek a mate within it, and he obviously chose my mother.
Sometime afterwards, I was born. I was a scruffy little thing with mostly werewolf blood running through my veins. The only hint that I may have been the grand-pup of a hybrid was my scarlet eyes.
It is here, moments after my birth, that my story begins.