I hated this book.  For terrible writing, complete lack of plot and about as much character development as the average installment of Penthouse Forum, I give Laurell K. Hamilton's latest novel Blood Noir an "F."  I'd give it a lower grade if I could.  I'm operating off of more, here, than residual feelings of betrayal.  For a long time, Laurell K. Hamilton was one of my favorite authors.  She gave us a strong female protagonist who had interesting adventures.  Although vulnerable, she was never a slave to her emotions.  Part fantasy, part thriller, part murder mystery, these books were something different.  It discouraged me, when Hamilton started writing soft-core porn.  For awhile, she at least maintained some degree of integrity; her characters had adventures in between bouts of kinky sex.  Eventually, though, those adventures grew less and less frequent, until they finally disappeared.  I thought her last installment, The Harlequin, was bad--Hamilton wasted about 400 pages to describe Anita Blake and her boyfriends going to a Cirque du Soleil type of event.  Well, heck, in comparison, that was the best book ever.