Wereling

The first book in the Wereling series! A teenage boy's ordinary life and wrenched apart when he discovers that he is the last hereditary werewolf and that the most evil bloodthirsty vampire known to the netherworld wants him dead.

Fourteen-year-old Trey Laporte is not a kid anymore. Not after the day he wakes up in agony -- retina-splitting, vomit-inducing agony. His clothes are torn. His room is trashed.

Enter Lucien Charron, the mysterious, long-lost "uncle" with freakish fire-flecked eyes and skin that blisters in the sun. Suddenly, Trey finds himself living in a luxury penthouse at the heart of a strange and sinister empire built on the powers of the Netherworld -- vampires, demons, sorcerers, and djinn.

And there is a girl -- Alexa Charron -- who is half vampire, half human, and insanely pretty, with powers all of her own. Trey is falling for her.

Trey is training night and day to control the newly discovered power lurking inside him. Now, demons are closing in on every side, and the most psychopathic bloodsucker to rock the Netherworld wants to destroy him. Above all, he must face one terrifying question: Is he a boy . . . or is he a beast?

He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, his eyes shut against both the sunlight and the fireworks that detonated inside his skull whenever he moved. He was naked. He fished under his pillow and pulled out his pajama shorts. This was just too weird. Trey forced his eyes open and bent down to pull the shorts on when he saw his shoes. His favorite shoes. What the hell...? There was a sharp knock at the door. "My shoes! What the...?" His voice cracked as he tried to speak, and his throat felt painfully raw. ...Standing up, he desperately looked around for something to drink, and saw properly for the first item that chaos that had become his bedroom.... Looking over his shoulder, he stared at the window, which was hanging at an impossible angle from the buckled metal surround.....His eyes shifted to the wall to the side of the opening, where great rents had been made in the plaster, as if someone had taken a garden fork and raked it along the surface. How could he have slept through this? How could anyone have slept through this? Excerpted from Wereling by Steve Feasey All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.