Tag adjusted his collar and walked through the door.

And right into a man who, in the heart of the city, smelled of evergreen and ocean and the blue heat at the heart of a flame, of amber and a sexuality so primal and yet so pure that it made Tag want to fall on his knees in praise of the Lord and Lady at the same time he wanted to fall on his knees and do something far naughtier.

He looked up into eyes that were both innocent and endless, and felt something snap inside him.

Probably, he thought weakly, what had snapped was what passed in a fox for common sense. Or maybe it was his heart.

Not human.

Paul Donovan didn’t even have to think to know that, didn’t have to engage the witch-sight he’d had locked down ever since he’d arrived in this gods-forsaken temple to consumerism. The man had no shields to speak of, and the nonhuman energy danced off him. He didn’t feel dark, didn’t exude an obvious sense of wrongness—but there was no guarantee that the being Paul Donovan sought would. It might be something so far removed from human concepts of right and wrong that it could kill another sentient being without becoming corrupted.

Paul had closed his eyes instinctively at the second of impact, fearing what it would do to his already frazzled senses. Now he opened them, gingerly, letting his witch-sight focus for the first time since he’d arrived in Las Vegas the day before.

He saw a beautiful red fox with intelligent human eyes, and a bright, fresh aura of russet overlaid over the man before him.

Dual.

Not the killer, then. The killer had struck with magic, though a magic that none of the local Nevada witches or shamans could identify. Duals didn’t have magical abilities other than their shape-shifting. Besides, a predator, if he turned killer, was going to get hands-on, or teeth-on, do something messy and obvious. He wouldn’t use a magic so subtle that the half-fae casino owner had to call in a seventy-five-year-old favor from the Donovan witches to figure out what was going on.

It's release day today for A Satyr for Midwinter--or rather, release night tonight. Phaze often releases its new titles in the evening so I'll be twitching all day and checking back obsessively at the Phaze site to see if it's out yet.

A night release seems fitting for a book that takes place on the longest night of the year and toys with the ancient tradition of making sure the sun comes back by watching (and partying and playing with your favorite lover or lovers) all night.

A longer and more coherent post later. I haven't even had coffee yet!

When the stranger stumbled into the courtyard, Laeca was elbow-deep in blood and entrails. Blood spattered the dirty snow around her and marred even the fresh, new-fallen area in the far corner.

“What…what are you doing? I thought you were the Lady of Thermanae, but this courtyard looks like a battlefield and you a blood-spattered warrior.” The voice was weak, queasy. “Is that some poor creature’s head in the cauldron?”

Laeca didn’t look up from stirring the gory mixture that would become sausage. “What, haven’t you seen anyone making blood sausage before?”

“No, fair one. You plan to eat that mess of blood and bones? How predatory.”

Who in seven hells had invited idiotic city people who clearly thought sausage grew on sausage trees to Thermanae for Midwinter? And why in the world had they come? Even her own villagers were staying close to home, not venturing to spend the Longest Night at the villa like they usually did. The air smelled of blizzard--and thus, of danger.

The approaching storm (well, that and the cook’s ill-timed attack of sciatica, which was probably triggered by the storm as well) was why Laeca was making sausage alone. She’d sent most of the household staff out to make sure the old folks and other vulnerable families--widows and widowers with young children, the family with the crippled daughter--either had enough food and firewood to keep them for a long stretch or made their way to the villa.

The uninvited guest gagged.

Laeca didn’t look up, but she could imagine the pale, effete, overdressed chap all too easily. Definitely a city type from Poldar, a noble or a scholar. Had her parents decided to come home from Arlind for the holiday after all and drag some political contact with them in hopes that she’d wed him? Lord and Lady, they knew her taste better than that--they should, since their down-to-earth approach to life had shaped it. Still, she’d been acting as Lady of Thermanae without a Lord for long enough that the magic of the land was starting to become unbalanced and they might be desperate enough to try to arrange a marriage with an unsuitable stranger.

Such as a city-bred moron who couldn’t handle a little sausage-related carnage. “And I suppose you eat nothing but fruit and grain.”

“Mostly, Lady. Honey and wine as well, and greens in season.” The voice faded out. “I am sorry to interrupt your cooking but… please…help.”

The soft plea cut through Laeca’s irritation. She looked up just on time to see the stranger collapse into the trampled, bloodstained snow.

Easy to mock the poor fellow, but he sounded dreadful, not just shaken by unexpected sausage-making, but truly ill.

And even if he had fainted from the sight of pig’s blood, she couldn’t very well leave him face-down in the courtyard. A woman of honor simply wouldn’t do that, however funny it might seem.

She dropped the huge olivewood spoon she was using to stir the pot and wiped her hands on her apron. It took her only three steps to reach him, and by then, it was clear that the stranger wasn’t an effete noble or sheltered scholar.

He wasn’t even human.

A naked satyr lay at her feet.

A naked, handsome satyr, the kind of male creature who might have been her dreamed-of Midwinter gift from the Lord and Lady, the perfect way to spend the Longest Night celebrating the power of life.

At least if he hadn’t been battered and far paler than a satyr should be.

For the birthday wishes. Actual birthday was low-key (mostly, and the stuff that wasn't was...private. *purrs*) but I've had birthday wishes galore, enjoyed lobster, will get sushi tonight, spent a restful weekend chez Mamasan, and have new clothes on the way, courtesy of Mamasan. Best of all in the material-goods department, I have a Kindle promised me, thanks to my wonderful men. Huzzah!

The real "best of all," of course, is that I've marked another year in a damn wonderful life with fine friends and family and am embarking on another one that's bound to be full of grand new adventures.