A/N This is one of my favourite stories I'm writing right now. It's just a lot of fun, because Guin has a lot of spunk. I write in segments, so I have a bit of other parts written, but nothing at the beginning. I hate introductions. Anyway, this entire story will be in first person, from both the main hero and heroine's perspectives. I've written the hero's part already for this chapter, but I can't attach it until I'm done Guin. Cheers.

Chapter 1 –

Guinevere

I walked back to my car, my once throbbing headache gone.

Though my arms were getting sore from toting bags emblazoned with brands such as Banana Republic and BCBG and Calvin Klein, I had quickly learned in life that when my family of werewolves was giving me a headache, get the hell out of the house and do something for yourself. I had woken with the headache that morning when my home was in a complete uproar, a massive frenzy of Windex and Lysol and rags and mops. They tried to enlist my help by arming with a box of laundry detergent, but I skived off pretty quickly.

All because my father was coming home after being away for two months. Because the so-called Prince of Night, who hadn't been to North America in almost two hundred years, was coming to stay at my house. The Prince of Night, who would stay with us for an undetermined length of time and take refuge in my home, and take advantage of my family's hospitality.

Perhaps I was selfish. Perhaps it was the territorial loup garou in me. But the nitty gritty of it was I am a spoiled princess amongst my family. I hate sharing and I always get things my way, so when I heard that the Prince was coming, I decided I would try and make his stay as short as possible. The fact that even without him being in the country yet he was already taking time, energy and attention away from me that was bestowed on my by my family made me hate him already. Which was fine for me, but I knew that my family wouldn't be too impressed once I started my antics. So the faster he was gone, the better it would be for everyone.

I started my car and took off out of the parking lot, the tires on my beloved Mini Cooper squealing as I peeled out onto the highway. My family refuses to drive with me any longer, because I have a small case of road rage. And I'm a little reckless when I'm behind the wheel. Music blasted out of my speakers, drowning out the sounds of fellow drivers yelling and honking at me as I weaved through traffic. In all my years as a driver I had never been in an accident though, so I thought it was a testament that at least I wasn't a bad driver in terms of maneuvering.

I finally spotted the exit I was looking for, and tore off towards it. The airport. I had already called a friend of mine to meet me to intercept my family so that I could properly greet our guests.