Kalix MacRinnalch, youngest daughter of the reigning werewolf king and closet laudanum addict, is on the run. Which is unsurprising, since she attacked her father during an argument about her boyfriend and ran off. She's currently running from her family—who are split on the notion of whether she should be rescued or executed for treason—from rival clans, and from human hunters who see her and all her kind as abominations.
The absolute best thing about this book is how utterly prosaic it is, and I mean that in the very best of ways. You would think that a war of succession between the werewolves of London (well, Scotland, but a lot of it takes place in London, and Warren Zevon is The Man), a histrionic queen from the elemental plane of fire and her rebellious niece, and a couple of hapless university students who get caught in the middle, you wouldn't really expect that the majority of the drama and suspense is wrapped up in whether they get cable TV, or how those shoes go with that dress. Martin Millar does an incredible job of depicting daily life in all its desultory magnificance, to the point where the dramatic plot points are merely afterthoughts to the lives you'd much rather get back to learning about.