London, 2014<br/><br/>Two different sides. Werewolves and Hunters. They had been at opposite sides for ages. For how long, it was hard to tell. Generations and generations on both sides killing - or trying to kill each other, in the worst case scenario. But even the best case scenario wasn't very good. In case they didn't kill them, hunters would either expose werewolves - in which case a hunt would follow - or keep trying to make their lives harder in any way possible.<br/><br/>It was the route that branch of the Hunters had taken. The family was called - perhaps not very creatively - Hunter, and had been on the lookout for werewolves for many generations. They didn't kill them personally, but had their means of making their lives more difficult, and supplied the ones who did kill them with weapons and ammunition. It was hard work for them, as well. Tiring and sometimes even boring work.<br/><br/>And sometimes very dangerous - a werewolf is not usually known for his self-control and even temper. And when one of them lost their cool, things could get - and usually got - messy.<br/><br/>All this was being lectured to a young redhead sitting on a comfy chair. She listened to her father's words with undivided attention, though she couldn't understand why he was telling her all that. At least, not until he talked about a truce. A peace treaty, at least a temporary one. Just to keep both sides alive, they had to come up with something. And this something was... marriage.<br/><br/>- WHAT? - the girl's voice sounded for the first time - Are you all out of your minds? I'm not marrying a flea bag! I'm not even going anywhere NEAR one!<br/><br/>The girl - Alyssa Hunter - jumped out of her chair.<br/><br/>- Unless you want to grab me by my hair and drag me screaming, I'm not moving from this house. Ever. That's final.