We picked our way across the crowded, teeming bar, doing our best not to step on anyone. The vortex of activity still swirled around the dance floor, and yep, there was the naked, grinning man, hands on his pumping hips as he received tribute from another eager admirer. At the risk of being totally rude, a part of me really hoped we were just talking blow jobs here, because if we weren’t, there could be some serious damage done.

“It’s a satyr,” Stefan murmured in my ear, his slightly too long black hair brushing my cheek. I shivered involuntarily at the sensation. Okay, I know the music was loud, but hot men whispering in my ear was not helping fight the funk. “I thought it might be, but I haven’t seen one in centuries.”

“Great,” I said. “What’s he doing here?”

“I don’t know,” Stefan said. “But he’s in rut.”

As a Michigan girl, I knew what that meant. Did you know male deer in rut can be dangerous to human women? Well, they can.

“Okay,” I said. “How do we get him out of rut?”

“I’m not sure.” He sounded apologetic. “But I fear it’s like ravening for us. There’s nothing to do but let it run its course.”

“Yeah, that’s not an option.” I gestured at the orgiastic sea. “This is not safe sex, Stefan. Can we use dauda-dagr to de-rut him?”

“No. But it may neutralize the effect long enough for us to establish control of this particular situation.” Stefan shifted. I wondered if his control was wearing thin. “If I may make a suggestion, I recommend that you call your patroness for advice before we make any attempt on the satyr.”

“Hel?” I asked. “She, uh, doesn’t exactly communicate using modern technology.”

He shook his head. “The lamia.”

Oh, right. Patroness was the sort of old-world terminology Stefan favored. As far as I was concerned, Lurine Hollister was my friend. Well, and my former babysitter. But she’d made it clear to Stefan that she considered me under her protection, which was okay by me. And it made sense. With an origin reaching back to ancient Greece, Lurine probably had experience with satyrs.

There was no point in trying to make a call in the nightclub. Stefan and I beat a hasty retreat back to the parking lot.

“Well?” Cody gave me an inquiring look.

“He’s a satyr,” I informed him. “And he’s in rut.”

“How do we get him out of rut?”

“Good question.” I sheathed my dagger and took out my phone. “Hopefully, I’m consulting an expert.”

Just when I was starting to fear my call was going to voice mail, Lurine picked up. “Hey, cupcake. How are you?”

“I’m okay,” I said. “Lurine, we’ve got a problem. We’ve got a satyr in rut here.”

“Really?” Her voice took on a note of surprised delight. “How fun!”