Werewolves are not born. Werewolves are not cursed. Werewolves, and other shapeshifters, are built for a purpose: war. Seeded within the human population as the ultimate tool for survival. The Sidhe choose humans with the appropriate ancestry to be brought across the boundaries of Dream to join their society. Others do not lead such charmed lives. Doomed because they are deemed to not add anything to the Sidhe's future, they are drafted to defend the present; pressed into service as the tractable cousins to werewolves: werehounds. Spencer Westinghouse was one of those poor souls pressed into hasty service to find a monster before she could kill again. But his transition was botched and he was left unable to shapeshift, but unable die, his faery animus stillborn, but alive, a poltergeist that keeps him safe but sets him further apart from the only people he can retreat to. So he runs to those who maimed him in the first place: the Sidhe.