Devils and Deadly Deals (Hunters Hollow #4)

Chapter 1

Chapter one

The cabin groaned, straining under the weight of age and the force of the howling winds that whipped through the bayou.

Across the room, cold-fogged windowpanes rattled violently inside their frames, distorting the view of the moonlight and forest beyond. On a battered and chipped end table, lamplight flickered uncertainly, sending shadows skittering across the scuffed floorboards.

This happened whenever temperatures dropped—or climbed—or when it rained, or sometimes for no discernible reason at all.

Curled into a squat, second-hand armchair with a new book and a mug of warm milk, Sammy Leeds barely noticed the little quirks.

In the far corner, atop a stone hearth, flames leapt and curled inside the ancient wood burner. It leaned slightly to one side, and it had rusted in some places, but the stove kept the space cozy despite the drafty doors and windows.

A relic from a simpler time, the cabin didn’t have as many of the modern luxuries the other houses in Hunters Hollow did. At some point in its history, it had been wired for electricity, but it hadn’t been built with the infrastructure for central heating and air.

But it was his.

The first thing he’d done after moving in the previous spring had been to install a couple of ductless air conditioner units. It had been an expensive upgrade, but a necessary one to keep temperatures tolerable throughout the humid Louisiana summers.

Otherwise, he didn’t mind washing dishes by hand, especially since he lived alone and rarely cooked. Eventually, he wanted to build a laundry room onto the back of the house, but for now, he hauled his clothes to a laundromat every couple of weeks.

It might not be ideal for everyone, but he had everything he needed, and what some might view as inconveniences, he considered unique charms of his little home.

Besides, it was still a hell of an upgrade from where he’d started.

When he’d landed in town nearly two years ago, it had been with a single suitcase and a lot of baggage. He’d worried his mysterious arrival would draw the wrong kind of attention, but in reality, no one cared, and if they did wonder, they never asked.

Probably because they all had scars of their own.

Places like Hunters Hollow collected trauma like some people amassed takeout menus. Not all at once, but in a steady trickle that added up over time.

Every resident had a story, a past, and secrets they didn’t want unearthed, just like him. With each passing day, those secrets felt a little heavier, and keeping them was a little harder.

He didn’t like lying, and it didn’t come naturally. He especially hated deceiving the people he cared about, people he thought of as family.

At the same time, it had become all too easy to lie to himself.

Building a new life on top of a shaky foundation wasn’t sustainable long term. He’d always known that, but he’d worked with what he had. Sadly, the first cracks had appeared much sooner than he’d expected.

Sammy stared down at his phone, at the name on the screen, and felt his stomach sink.

KIEV: Valerie just left the club. Call me.

He read the message at least a dozen times, his heart pounding in his throat, before he finally forced himself to place the call. With a shaking hand and a clenched jaw, he lifted the phone to his ear and waited.

“I wasn’t sure you’d call,” Kiev said in lieu of a proper greeting.

His voice had a slight echo to it, evident even over the steady drone of conversation, music, and clinking glass.

Sammy could see it clearly, as if no time at all had passed. He could picture the nightclub, and even where Kiev stood within it. Rather than filling him with nostalgia, however, the familiar sounds made him feel vaguely ill.

He and Kiev had been friends once, or something like it, but that brought him little comfort now.

“Why was my mom there?”

“She has the locket.”

He had already known that, of course, but a small part of him had hoped to be proven wrong. “Did she—” He swallowed thickly and tried again. “What did she do with it?”

“Nothing yet. She left with it in a cab about twenty minutes ago.”

“Where?”

“No idea, but I overheard her say something about the airport.” Kiev sighed, his breath crackling over the line. “I’m sorry it’s not much, but I thought you’d want to know.”

No, the information didn’t really help him. Within twenty-four hours, his mother could be anywhere in the world, and wherever Valerie Halloway went, misery usually followed.

But Kiev was right about one thing. He did want to know, even if he had no idea what to do about it.

“Thanks for texting me.”

Neither of them seemed to know what to say after that. The silence stretched on, awkward and deafening, until Kiev announced that he needed to get back to work. Relieved, Sammy thanked him again and said a hasty goodbye, not bothering with false promises to keep in touch.

He and Kiev hadn’t parted on bad terms, but the siren represented a part of his life he desperately wanted to forget.

Marking the page in his book, he set it aside on the end table and forced himself to his feet. Lost in a maze of thoughts and worries, he moved on autopilot, carrying his mug to the small kitchen to wash it, then placed it on the silicone mat to dry.

Not knowing what else to do, he went about the rest of his nighttime routine, locking the doors and turning out all the lights. He washed his face, brushed his teeth, and changed into his pajamas. He didn’t really remember doing any of it.

Unsurprisingly, sleep eluded him, and he spent most of the night tossing and turning while his mind spun out one bleak scenario after another. He didn’t know what his mother had planned, or what she had been doing at the nightclub, but he doubted it involved a family reunion.

Despite the panic bubbling beneath the surface, a part of him had been anticipating this. In fact, he had expected her to make an appearance much sooner.

Just before daybreak, he finally fell into a fitful sleep plagued by murky dreams. Trapped in darkness, he couldn’t see anything, but he could hear whispers of conversation all around him, voices hissing like hundreds of miniature fires.

Then, from the shadows, his mother emerged in the distance, muted and blurred around the edges. She wore a triumphant smile on her painted lips, and her eyes—the same jade green as Sammy’s—sparked with malice.

A pewter locket hung from her neck by a leather cord, the casing trimmed in onyx and laced shut with a scarlet satin ribbon. She tapped a pointed fingernail against the front, making the etched runes flare with golden light.

Dread curled in his stomach, and an invisible fist tightened in his chest, forcing the breath from his lungs. Instinct screamed for him to flee, but when he tried, he couldn’t move. Frozen, trapped inside his own body, he could only watch as his mother crept closer.

Sammy jerked awake with a soft gasp, his heart thrashing wildly against his ribs.

“Fuck,” he muttered, dragging a hand over his face as he tried to slow his breathing.

It had been a decade, almost to the day, since he’d last seen his mother, and a lot had changed in that time. He’d grown not only older, but smarter, warier, and more resilient.

Yet the mere mention of her still made him feel like a scared child.

Lowering his hand, he pushed upright in bed, squinting against the sudden brightness. Sunlight filtered through the sheer curtains that bracketed his bed, casting the room in a warm, golden glow that felt wildly disorienting.

He couldn’t have been asleep for more than a few minutes, but it looked to be midmorning by now. A quick glance at the clock on his nightstand confirmed his suspicions, the brass hands showing just after ten o’clock.

Groaning, he shoved the blankets back and swung his legs over the side of the mattress. Chilled, damp air immediately assaulted him, making him shiver, and the cold hardwood leeched any remaining warmth from him as he shuffled down the hall to the bathroom.

He went through the motions, showering and dressing, his movements plodding as he prepared for the day. When he stepped through his front door, he didn’t bother locking it behind him. Even if someone broke in, he didn’t own anything worth stealing.

He turned his collar up against the biting wind as he made the ten-minute walk from the edge of town to the main street that ran through the heart of Hunters Hollow. The cold snap was predicted to last throughout the week, but at least the sun felt nice against his face.

Entering the back of his shop, he passed through the tiny studio apartment that had been his home for the first year after he’d come to town.

Only marginally bigger than a walk-in closet, it contained a sleeper sofa, a mini-fridge, and a separate bathroom with a shower just big enough to turn around in.

But it was dry, temperature controlled, and it had suited his needs at the time.

When he entered the main dining room, he found only two occupied tables, not unusual for that time of morning. More than once, he had considered adding a selection of sandwiches to the menu to boost midday traffic, but he never seemed to get around to it.

“Hey, Sammy.” His assistant greeted him when he ducked behind the counter, though he barely glanced away from his cell phone. “Late night?”

Young and enthusiastic, Braeden Cox had been his first employee at Cherry on Top, as well as his first friend in Hunters Hollow. He had never worked in a bakery before, and Sammy had never owned one, but they’d muddled through together until they’d eventually figured it out.

Opening a bakery in a place like Hunters Hollow had already been a gamble. As a general rule, Otherlings didn’t care much for sugary treats. With their heightened senses, they often found the sweetness cloying and overpowering rather than enjoyable.

Add the fact that the residents could be slow to embrace change, and it had been an uphill battle from the start. The flow of customers had started as a drip, then a trickle, but after almost a year, they had managed to build a steady group of regulars.

“Something like that,” Sammy muttered. “Where is everyone?”

“Tamara went into Slidell,” he answered, referring to the next town over. “We’re out of creamer and oat milk.” Sliding his cell phone into the front pocket of his jeans, he finally looked up to meet his gaze. “I sent everyone else home early after things calmed down.”

Sammy cocked his head with a frown. “Calmed down?”

“Yeah, some fancy party up at the hotel.” Braeden motioned toward the mostly empty display cases on either side of the register. “Dessert breads are in the oven. Cookies and cupcakes are cooling on racks. They cleaned us out of the blood tarts, though.”

And they wouldn’t receive another delivery of blood bags until the following morning.

“I’ll let the hotel know they won’t be included with their delivery order tomorrow.”

“Already did,” Braeden assured him.

Sammy bobbed his head as he exhaled slowly. There wasn’t anything they could do, but he still felt awful about it. He hated letting people down, especially someone like Uriah Maddock.

While he acknowledged his own hard work and dedication in making the place a success, he also knew he couldn’t have done it without the backing of the hotel owner.

The dragon shifter had given him a chance when others likely would have turned him away. Allowing him to lease the location had been an indirect endorsement. Then Uriah had taken it a step further.

Despite operating several restaurants and a cafe of his own at Blackhaven Bayou, he trusted Cherry on Top to provide an assortment of breakfast pastries for hotel guests. Which had ultimately resulted in more traffic, as well as more delivery orders from other businesses.

And just as importantly, Uriah had kept his secret.

Sammy knew he wouldn’t be able to hide forever, but for now, it felt safer. Most people, including his fellow Otherlings, held a rather negative opinion of changelings, viewing the race as manipulative and deceitful.

Worse, they weren’t entirely wrong to feel that way, even if the deception sometimes happened by accident.

Braeden shuffled a step closer, his eyebrows drawn together in concern. “Sammy, did you hear me?”

He jerked his head up, blinking to clear the fog from his mind. “Huh?”

“Are you okay?” Braeden studied him with a frown. “No offense, but you look terrible.”

He felt it too. “Yeah, I’m fine. Didn’t sleep much. That’s all.”

“What’s wrong?”

Sammy waved him off with a forced smile. He appreciated the concern, but he wouldn’t drag Braeden into his mess.

“Have a lot on my mind, I guess.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“I’m fine,” he repeated, pushing his grin even wider.

Undeterred by the brushoff, Braeden pressed him again. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Not unless you know how to do a locator spell,” he mumbled—half joke, half sarcasm.

“I don’t.”

Of course he didn’t. He was human without a single ounce of magical blood.

“Tenn might, though,” he continued. “I mean, maybe not with a spell, but he used to be a bounty hunter for the Ministry.”

Sammy stilled, and his spinning thoughts slammed to a halt.

Lysander Tennison owned the tattoo studio down the street, and almost everyone in town had been inked by him at one point or another. He came into the bakery on occasion, and Sammy bumped into him around town sometimes.

The incubus had always been affable enough, and everyone in the community seemed to like him, including Sammy. They weren’t close, though. Certainly not close enough for him to ask for a favor.

But he could hire him. The money he’d squirreled away in his savings account had been meant for renovations on his cabin, but nothing in his home needed urgent repairs.

Besides, unless he found his mother soon, he might not be around to enjoy the upgrades anyway.