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Urban Fantasy

Kitty Goes to War (Kitty Norville, Book 8) by Carrie Vaughn

By Carrie Vaughn

Kitty Norville, Alpha werewolf and host of The middle of the night Hour, a radio call-in convey, is contacted through a chum on the NIH's middle for the examine of Paranatural Biology. 3 military squaddies lately lower back from the battle in Afghanistan are being held at feet. Carson in Colorado Springs. They're killer werewolves—and publish tense pressure has left them not able to regulate their shape-shifting and not able to have interaction with humans. Kitty concurs to determine them, hoping to aid via bringing them into her pack.

Meanwhile, Kitty will get sued for libel by way of CEO Harold Franklin after that includes quick Mart--his national chain of 24-hour comfort shops with a name for attracting supernatural unpleasantness--on her convey.

Very undesirable climate is at the horizon.

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Extra info for Kitty Goes to War (Kitty Norville, Book 8)

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Golden oblongs of sunshine lay heavy on a black and white tiled floor. The floor and kitchen were old, but the appliances were new. One of those deluxe refrigerators with an ice maker and water dispenser took up a hunk of the back wall. All the appliances were done in a pale yellow: Harvest Gold, Autumn Bronze. Sitting at the kitchen table was a woman in her early sixties. Her thin brown face was seamed with a lot of smile lines. Pure white hair was done in a bun at the nape of her neck. She sat very straight in her chair, thin-boned hands folded on the tabletop.

Sometimes it’s goat blood, but more often chicken. I had compromised on the outfit, caught between showing respect and not melting in the heat. It would have been easy if I hadn’t planned 32 LAURELL K. HAMILTON to carry a gun with me. Call me paranoid, but I don’t leave home without it. The acid washed jeans, jogging socks, and Nikes were easy. An Uncle Mike’s inter-pants holster complete with a Firestar 9mm completed the outfit. The Firestar was my backup piece to the Browning Hi-Power. The Browning was far too bulky to put down an inter-pants holster, but the Firestar fit nicely.

A lot of hate in old Tony. It never occurred to him to pat me down for weapons. Tsk-tsk. A second man came to the screen door. He was in his late forties, maybe. He was wearing a white undershirt with a plaid shirt unbuttoned over it. The sleeves were folded back as far as they’d go. Sweat stood out on his forehead. I was betting there was a gun at the small of his back. His black hair had a pure white streak just over the forehead. ” His voice was thick and held an accent. ” The older man nodded.

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