Chapter 2
Chapter two
"Um, hello? I’m looking for Dominic Rivas.
My name is Sammy Leeds, and I live in Hunters Hollow, Louisiana.
I got your number from Lysander Tennison, and he said you might be able to help me.
I don’t want to say too much over the phone, but I’d appreciate it if you could call me back. My number is…”
Shrouded in shadows, Dominic Rivas stood across the street from the Cherry on Top Bakery, replaying the voice messages for the third time in as many days.
Given the lack of details, it wasn’t a request he would typically entertain, but something about the quiet desperation in the voice had grabbed him and wouldn’t let go.
Sammy Leeds also came with references.
It had been years since he’d been in contact with Lysander Tennison, but he liked the demon well enough. Not a friend, but they had shared a mutually beneficial business arrangement for nearly a decade.
More importantly, he knew Tenn wouldn’t waste his time. If he deemed the situation worth his attention, Dominic figured there must be some merit to the request.
He had considered reaching out for more details, but frankly, it wouldn’t have changed anything. No matter what information Tenn provided, he would have ended up in Hunters Hollow regardless.
People embellished. They misrepresented the facts. They outright lied.
Dominic hadn’t made it to where he was by taking others at their word.
Selecting the next voicemail, he lifted the phone to his ear.
“Hi, this is Sammy Leeds again. I’m sorry to bother you, but I don’t know what else to do. I’d rather not go to the Ministry, and Tenn said he can’t help me. I can pay you, of course, but I don’t have a lot of time.”
“What have you gotten yourself into?” he muttered under his breath.
Clearing the screen, he slid his phone into the front pocket of his jeans and turned his attention to the bakery windows, to the male behind the counter. He couldn’t make out many details through the fogged glass beyond a petite frame and a head of blond hair.
Still, he watched.
A brisk wind swept down the street, unseasonably cold for southern Louisiana, and carrying the familiar scents of the bayou—stagnant water, aged cypress, and damp fur. All completely overshadowed by the smell of the town itself.
The stench of discarded and rotting food wafted from the back of the diner. The veterinary clinic down the street that catered to “exotic” animals reeked of antiseptic and anxiety.
Wilted flowers and overripe fruit at the grocer. Ink and rubbing alcohol at the tattoo studio. Pomades and blade oil from the local barbershop.
It was fucking overwhelming and reminded him why he chose to live four miles from his nearest neighbor.
But at least it was relatively quiet.
Despite both the bakery and the local diner being filled with customers, he detected only brief, clipped exchanges rather than the steady drone of conversation. Instead, the night was filled with all the usual suspects.
An owl hooted from a nearby tree. A bobcat yowled from somewhere deep inside the forest.
And the rhythm of smooth jazz floated to him from the hotel in the distance.
Perched atop the hill and lit up like a runway, the Greek Revival mansion shined like a beacon in the darkness. Pearly white with towering columns and spacious balconies secured by ornate iron railings, it was a stunning piece of architecture, which only made it look more out of place.
Shoving his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket, Dominic sighed.
The last time he had been in Hunters Hollow, the town had been little more than a bog with a handful of rudimentary cabins. No streets or sidewalks. No electricity or indoor plumbing.
It damn sure hadn’t boasted an artisanal bakery or a luxury hotel.
Movement across the street caught his attention, drawing his gaze back to the entrance of Cherry on Top. Through the glass, he watched as a male dressed in faded jeans and a hooded sweater crossed the cafe to the exit.
Although he was the size of a tank and equally as battle scarred, in a community like Hunters Hollow, the locals gave him little more than a cursory glance as he passed their tables.
Dominic didn’t know these people or what had brought them to the town, but he recognized the vibe. Everyone there had a story, and none of them liked to talk about it.
Since his pack operated in a similar fashion, he not only understood it, he respected it.
The front door swung open with a melodic chime, and the male stepped out into the circle of light cast by a nearby lamppost. After looking up and down the sidewalk, he strode across the street, two cupcakes with colorful frosting balanced in one of his beefy hands.
“Well?” Dominic asked.
“These are fucking divine.” The guy held up the pastries and gave him a toothy grin. “Want one?”
He knew the asshole was baiting him, but he couldn’t hold back his growl of impatience. He had come back to this shithole for information. Not dessert.
“Is that a no?”
As his second-in-command—and his younger brother—Santiago Rivas was one of the few members of the pack not intimidated by him. Not that he expected absolute obedience, but some level of respect would be nice.
“Saint.”
“Stop growling. Have a cupcake.”
“I don’t want a fucking—”
The rest of his words ended in a muffled grunt when the spongy yellow cake suddenly filled his mouth, smearing purple frosting across his lips. And though he didn’t want to admit it, the damn thing was surprisingly good.
Airy and buttery with the barest hint of lemon, it practically melted on his tongue. The icing was creamy, tart with the taste of fresh blackberries that perfectly balanced the mild sweetness.
“Told you,” Saint said, his mouth sliding into a smirk. “Good, right?”
He made a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat as he unwrapped the treat and popped the rest of it into his mouth.
Saint’s grin widened. “If you like that, you should meet the guy who made them.”
“Tell me.”
“Young. Cute.” He paused to finish off his own cupcake. “A little on edge, but we know he’s in some kind of trouble.”
Which told him zilch.
“He’s a changeling.”
Dominic stilled, and his gaze flickered back to the bakery.
He had met plenty of changelings throughout his life, but he hadn’t come across one in decades. Partly because so few remained, and partly because they had gotten better at hiding.
“Let’s go.”
Saint didn’t move, and his expression never changed. He still wore that stupid smirk, as if he had anticipated the reaction.
Which, of course he had.
Dominic had made no secret of his disdain for the fae. Cunning, treacherous, deceitful—the fairy tales about changelings painted a fantastical but accurate picture. No, they didn’t go around stealing human children, but they did find other insidious ways to manipulate and hurt people.
“That’s bullshit, and you know it.”
He dragged his gaze away from the clouded windows of the building across the street and back to his brother. “Stay out of my head.”
“I don’t need to be in your head to know what you’re thinking.”
Fair enough. Saint knew him better than anyone. Maybe even better than he knew himself.
Of course, it didn’t hurt that he could hear his every thought. While not a true telepath—his abilities only worked with immediate family members—he had a knack for ferreting out Dominic’s secrets.
And unlike him, Saint could interpret those thoughts objectively. Sometimes, he even offered decent advice.
“Only decent?”
Cocky bastard.
“I’m just saying,” Saint continued. “Maybe talk to him first.”
Dominic hesitated.
Was it fair to judge all changelings by the actions of an individual? Of course not, but he had little interest in fairness. Old wounds ran deep, and the scars left by past betrayal now colored every new encounter with suspicion and caution.
He didn’t necessarily see that as a character flaw, though. Not the way Saint did.
Dominic didn’t give the benefit of the doubt or dig deep to find the good in people. He evaluated them at face value…and regularly found them lacking.
But he trusted no one in the world more than his brother. “Do you really think we should help him?”
“I think you should at least hear him out,” Saint countered, his tone and expression serious for once.
Dominic growled. He’d expected the answer, so he didn’t know why he’d bothered asking.
In contrast to his cynicism, Saint held an infuriatingly optimistic view of the world. He was still young, still hopeful, and he still believed people could change.
Together, however, it worked. Their dynamic, that push and pull, had turned a bunch of misfits and castoffs into one of the most respected packs in the country.
And one of the most feared.
“Just talk to him,” Saint pressed. “What can it hurt?”
Fair enough. It wouldn’t cost him anything except time. Besides, sometimes people surprised him. Not often, but it did happen.
“I’ll talk to him,” he agreed reluctantly. “You can head back. I’ve got it from here.”
Saint shrugged, and his lips drew up into another easy smile. “Cool. Bring more cupcakes.”
“No.”
“Do it.”
“I won’t.”
The wolf backed away slowly, his shoulders shaking with quiet laughter. Then he vanished, dematerializing in a shimmering haze of golden light.
Dominic sighed again.
The theatrics had been dramatic and completely unnecessary, meaning the asshole had done it for no other reason than to annoy him. Sometimes, he really wished his parents would have adopted a dog instead.
Relaxing his shoulders, he tried to shake off the lingering irritation—with Saint, with the baker, with the situation—and strode out of the shadows. As he approached the sidewalk and the glare of the streetlamps, he cloaked himself in magic to hide his approach.
He’d give Sammy a chance, but he’d do it his way and on his terms.
Another patron exited the bakery a moment later, and he slipped through the door before it could close.
Warm air flowed from the vents in the ceiling, circulating the aroma of warm bread, buttery crusts, and brewed coffee. From the customers, he easily picked out the familiar scents of various Otherlings.
A werewolf near the door. A demon by the window. Even a couple of vampires in the corner.
Locating an empty table along the back wall, he settled into a chair beneath a watercolor painting of a three-tiered cake topped with cherries.
He’d talk to the baker soon enough. Over the years, though, he’d found that he learned a lot more about a person by being quiet than he did by filling the space with noise.
So, for now, he waited.
Watching.
Assessing.
Whether Saint had been messing with him or not, he had been right about one thing. The changeling was cute.
Average in height with a slim, almost delicate build, he moved with purpose and confidence as he took orders and packaged pastries. A knot of strawberry blond hair perched precariously at his crown, but a few strands had escaped to slink around his neck.
He spoke with practiced kindness, and while his smile remained fixed, it never quite reached his eyes. A shame, really. Even clouded with worry, he had the most striking jade green irises.
The longer Dominic watched, the more those little details stood out to him.
While Sammy had a naturally fair complexion, it appeared pale and dull, lacking warmth and vitality. Dark circles hadn’t fully formed beneath his eyes yet, but he carried the suggestion of shadows at the inner corners.
The skin across his cheeks stretched a little too tight. His jaw appeared a little too angular. And a gray-and-white flannel shirt hung loosely off a set of narrow shoulders, engulfing his frame and making him appear even smaller by comparison.
Saint had said the baker seemed “on edge,” but Dominic disagreed.
Sammy hid it well from the casual observer, but whatever trouble he had gotten himself into didn’t just have him stressed.
If anything, he looked absolutely terrified.