Chapter 115 The Old Bloodlines

Clearing her throat softly, Zoey glanced sideways at the man walking beside her.

Derrick Williams was, without question, a good-looking man. The kind of man who could walk into a room without making any effort to attract attention and somehow end up with everyone looking in his direction anyway. His dark hair was neatly styled, his tailored clothes fitted him perfectly, and there was an effortless confidence in the way he carried himself.

According to his public profile, he was thirty-one years old.

Thirty-one.

Zoey glanced at him again, narrowing her eyes slightly. There was something about the man that made her suspicious of that number, although she couldn’t quite put her finger on it.

Perhaps it was the way he sometimes looked at people, as though he had already heard everything they were about to say and was simply waiting to see whether they would embarrass themselves by saying it anyway.

Or perhaps she had simply spent too much time around people who were not what they appeared to be.

First Alexander Grant, who had turned out to be a three-thousand-year-old Lycan disguised as a billionaire CEO and university professor. Then Jason, her best friend’s cheating ex-boyfriend, who could grow claws and fangs when sufficiently provoked. And now Derrick, another wealthy, suspiciously handsome man who is another werewolf.

At this point, Zoey was beginning to feel that the ordinary human world had been keeping secrets from her out of spite.

“So, um…” She cleared her throat again, drawing Derrick’s attention. “You’re a werewolf.”

Derrick glanced at her, and the corner of his mouth lifted. “That’s generally what it meant when you saw me last night, bowing to Alexander, Miss Brooks.”

“Right. Obviously.” Zoey gave an awkward little laugh, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I just thought I’d repeat it out loud to make sure my brain has actually processed the information. Because, honestly, I feel like I’ve been having one very long, very expensive hallucination since I met your people.”

“Your people?” Derrick raised an eyebrow.

“You know what I mean. The wealthy, ridiculously attractive, potentially dangerous people who turn out to have fangs and claws hidden beneath their designer clothes.”

“An interesting description of our society.”

“Accurate, though.”

He chuckled, and the sound caught Zoey slightly off guard. She had expected him to be more difficult to talk to, particularly after their previous encounter at the Blackthorne Estate. Instead, he seemed perfectly content to entertain her questions.

“Yes, Miss Brooks,” he said. “I am a werewolf. And I believe, for all practical intents and purposes, I was born into it. I am what our world classifies as a true blood.”

“A true blood?” Zoey raised an eyebrow, stepping around a heavy oak planter filled with exotic ferns.

“Yes.”

“Okay, you’re going to have to explain that one, because I’ve discovered that whenever someone in your world uses a perfectly ordinary word, it usually means something completely different from what I think it means.”

“That’s a reasonable assumption to make.”

“Thank you. I appreciate being told I’m reasonable for once. So is that an actual biological category, or is it just aristocratic branding?”

Derrick smiled before returning his attention to the path ahead of them.

“In our world, not all werewolves share the same origins. There are those who belong to the old bloodlines, families whose ancestors became werewolves three thousand years ago. Their ancestors were among the first humans to receive Lycan blood through the magic that made the original transformation possible. Their descendants inherited that nature, and the bloodlines continued through generations.”

“So, what about the other side of it?” Zoey asked, turning her full attention back to him. “The ones who aren’t born with it. The ones who are bitten—what are they called?”

Derrick paused near a tall stone pillar, his expression turning slightly reflective. “Some humans become werewolves after being bitten by one. They don’t possess the same ancestral bloodline as those born into the old families. They are traditionally referred to as The Turned.” he answered, choosing the term with care. “Or, in colloquial pack terminology, simply the bitten.”

“Turned,” Zoey repeated thoughtfully. “So they’re basically humans who get bitten and become werewolves, while you were born into it.”

“Precisely. Those like myself, Oliver, and your friend’s ex-boyfriend, Jason Montgomery, belong to old, influential lineages of true bloods. Although our family histories are different, we all descend from established werewolf bloodlines. That’s what makes us true bloods. We weren’t ordinary humans who acquired the condition through a bite.”

Zoey nodded slowly, absorbing the information.

“All right, I think I’m following. So, essentially, your supernatural world has a hierarchy based on bloodlines, and the people at the top are the ones whose families have been werewolves for generations.”

“That’s a fair summary.”

“Ah. Wonderful,” Zoey muttered, shaking her head. “It seems the corporate ladder in the shadow world is just as cutthroat—if not worse—than Wall Street.”

“Worse, I assure you,” Derrick chuckled softly. “On Wall Street, a bad quarter merely results in lost capital. In our world, a failure of hierarchy usually results in lost blood.”

“Fantastic.” She spread her hands in mock surrender. “Because apparently, even after discovering that werewolves exist, I still have to deal with class discrimination. I thought I had left all that nonsense behind when I graduated from high school.”

Derrick laughed. “I’m afraid the supernatural world is not quite as different from yours as you might hope.”

“That is deeply unfortunate.”

There was a brief silence as they continued down the sunlit corridor. Zoey, realizing she had a rare, unfiltered window into a society she had only previously read about in late-night fantasy forums, deliberately slowed her pace. Her lagging footsteps naturally forced Derrick to slow down with her, matching her stride without a hint of impatience.

For a few moments, neither spoke.

Zoey could have allowed the silence to continue. It would probably have been the sensible thing to do, considering that she was walking through the estate of a family whose members had enough power to make her life extremely unpleasant if she asked the wrong questions. Unfortunately, sensible had never been one of her defining characteristics.

Besides, she had questions. Far too many of them. And now that Derrick had confirmed that she could ask him about the supernatural world without being immediately threatened, she had every intention of taking advantage of the opportunity.

“So, these Turned werewolves,” she began, deliberately slowing her pace as though she had suddenly become interested in the arrangement of the stones beneath her feet. “What happens to them after they’ve been bitten? Do they immediately become part of the pack that turned them, or can they just go off and start their own little wolf family?”

Derrick’s stride shortened to match hers.

“You really are curious about all this, aren’t you?”

“Wouldn’t you be? Yesterday, I thought my biggest problem was figuring out why my best friend’s billionaire professor seemed to have an unhealthy interest in her. Now I discover he’s an ancient Lycan, my friend’s ex-boyfriend is a werewolf, and apparently, there are different categories of supernatural creatures that I need to memorise if I want to avoid saying something offensive to the wrong person.”

“An understandable concern.”

“Exactly. So, please, educate me. I’d rather know the rules before I accidentally break one.”

Derrick studied her for a moment, seemingly deciding how much he should tell her.

“Turned werewolves are generally bound to the pack of the Alpha who turned them. Their position within that pack depends on several factors, including their abilities, their loyalty, and the circumstances under which they were turned. Most begin at the bottom of the hierarchy. They have to prove themselves before they can earn greater responsibilities.”

“And if they marry another werewolf and have children?”

“That depends on the bloodline of the other parent and the nature of the family involved. In many cases, the children of two Turned werewolves are classified as half-bloods.”

Zoey’s eyebrows rose. “Half-bloods? Wait. So, if someone is bitten and becomes a werewolf, then marries another bitten werewolf, their children are considered half-bloods?”

“Yes. Once those individuals find mates or marry within the fold, and they eventually have children who inherit the wolf, those children are classified as half-bloods. They’re born with a werewolf nature, but they don’t possess the old bloodline that distinguishes the true bloods. The term refers to their place in the traditional hierarchy, not to whether they’re genuine werewolves.” Derrick explained.

“And where do half-bloods stand?”

“Usually near the bottom.”

Zoey’s expression changed. “Usually?”

Derrick glanced at her. “There are exceptions, but the hierarchy is deeply rooted in our society. Unfortunately, within traditional pack politics, these half-bloods occupy the lowest tier of the social hierarchy. They are the ones commonly designated as Omegas. The old families have held power for generations, and many of them are reluctant to surrender it. Half-bloods are often regarded as inferior, regardless of their individual abilities.”

“That sounds incredibly unfair.”

“It is, in many respects.”

Zoey looked at him, apparently surprised by his willingness to admit it. “I thought you were going to defend the system.”

“Why would I defend something simply because it exists?”

“I don’t know. You’re a true-blood werewolf from a wealthy family. I assumed you might be one of those people who believe that being born into the right family automatically makes you better than everyone else.”

Derrick’s smile faded into something more thoughtful.

“Some people do believe that, Miss Brooks. They confuse ancestry with merit and privilege with superiority. But being born into a powerful bloodline doesn’t automatically make someone intelligent, capable, or worthy of respect. It simply means they were fortunate enough to be born into that family…”