Chapter 3
Chapter three
Sammy hated winter.
He didn’t mind the occasional cold snap. On the contrary, he loved any excuse to dress in cozy flannels or curl up under a fleece blanket with a good book.
No, what he hated was the darkness. The shorter days. The fleeting sunshine. He hated that five o’clock somehow managed to feel like midnight.
Everything seemed to move at a deliberately unhurried pace in the winter, including time. Every task required more effort, more energy.
But truthfully, he’d rather be trudging forward slowly than standing still.
His gaze flickered toward the register, to his cell phone where he’d left it on the counter, but the dark screen only taunted him. Blank and lifeless, it reflected the pendant lights overhead and the neon clock above the menu board.
No calls. No messages. Not even an Instagram notification.
To be fair, no one had promised him anything. Tenn had given him a phone number and an opportunity. Nothing more, nothing less.
But what other options did he have?
Despite living in a town overflowing with Otherlings from specialized backgrounds, he needed a very particular kind of help. Namely, someone who could locate a person who didn’t want to be found, and ideally, wouldn’t ask too many questions.
As a former bounty hunter, Tenn had seemed perfect for the job. Unfortunately, he had immediately clocked that Sammy needed more help than he could provide.
He couldn’t go to the Ministry of Otherling Affairs or any of the people in town who worked for the paranormal governing body. For starters, he didn’t trust the institution. Mostly, though, he didn’t have time to wade through a maze of bureaucratic red tape.
Until he’d been handed that hastily scribbled note at the tattoo studio down the street, he had never heard the name Dominic Rivas. Tenn had seemed reluctant to give him the number, and he’d been upfront about the fact that the werewolf was dangerous.
But Sammy had been so desperate for help—any kind of help—he hadn’t cared where it came from. Honestly, he still didn’t, but he wondered if maybe he should have asked more questions.
He figured he probably could have provided a few more details in the messages he’d left too. Divulging the details over the phone felt risky, but he now realized how vague his pleas had likely sounded to the wolf.
He could have been asking for anything, from a substantial loan to a hired hitman.
In reality, he just needed to find one greedy, devious hybrid before she ruined his life.
Again.
Given Dominic’s reputation, he had naively assumed this would be a pay-to-play transaction. He’d leave a message, someone would call him back, and they’d negotiate a price. It hadn’t occurred to him that he might actually have to plead his case.
But how did he begin to explain his mother to a person who had never met her? No one in their right mind would believe him.
Beyond his name and vague implications, however, Sammy didn’t know much about Dominic Rivas. He gathered that the guy might be considered morally ambiguous at best, and his pack almost certainly operated outside the law.
But every time he tried to find out more, he was met with strange looks and muttered curses.
Allegations ranged from cryptic to downright ominous. People whispered about deals gone sideways and lingering debts that had a way of coming due when least expected.
Bear, the town barber, claimed the werewolf could track down anyone—even those who managed to slip between realms. That last bit sounded a little too fantastical to be believable, but then again, he’d seen some weird shit since moving to Hunters Hollow.
“It’s not worth it,” Duncan, the grouchy owner of the diner, had told him.
“I don’t know anything about him, and I don’t want to,” Vita had snapped as she’d bagged his produce at the grocer. With a haughty sniff and a trembling lip, the fae had added, “You couldn’t pay me to go near him or his pack of devil dogs.”
He knew he should take the warnings seriously, but again and again, Sammy found himself unmoved. When he weighed the risks of Dominic’s infamy against his mother’s proven malice, the scales always tipped in favor of action.
No matter how shady the wolf’s past—and possibly present—no matter the rumors that clung to his name like fog to the bayou, Sammy needed someone who could produce results.
If Dominic could help him, nothing else mattered. Not the debts, not the risks, not the possibility that the price might turn out steeper than he could pay.
The warnings were nothing more than noise, background static, a possible mistake versus a very real and experienced threat.
He did wish he knew why the townspeople considered Dominic so dangerous, though. Everyone told him to keep his distance, but no one ever gave him a reason. Not one that satisfied him anyway. That curiosity kept him asking questions long after he had made his decision.
And a potential new source of information had just walked through the door.
Straightening, he relaxed his shoulders and hitched on a bright smile as a couple of his regulars approached the counter.
“Hey, Dylan.” He glanced past the young vampire and dipped his head again in greeting. “Rogue.”
Most fledglings struggled through the first year of their transition. Some never fully acclimated at all.
Dylan had thrived.
A lot of that came down to character and resilience, but having a solid support system had been instrumental in the beginning. Being mated to a centuries-old vampire with a low tolerance for bullshit probably didn’t hurt either.
Recently, Dylan had started his training to become a Ministry guard—similar to a patrol officer in the human world—and by all accounts, he had a natural affinity for the work.
Sammy wasn’t surprised. He hadn’t known Dylan that long, but it had been clear from their first meeting that the guy valued fairness and justice, and he possessed a strong desire to help people. Sometimes, to his own detriment.
“How’s training going?” he asked.
“Really good.” His dark eyes sparkled with excitement as he gave him a wide smile, complete with an impressive set of pointed canines. “I still have a lot to learn, but Killian says I’ll be ready for supervised patrols in a few weeks.”
Killian was another Ministry guard and a trainer at the academy. A werewolf, if he remembered correctly. Sammy had never met him, but Dylan spoke of him often and with a great deal of respect.
He had no reference for what the training involved, how long it should last, or when new recruits usually started patrols. Instead, he simply tried to match Dylan’s enthusiasm.
“That’s great! Do you have training tonight?”
Dylan shook his head, making his chestnut curls bounce against his cheeks. “We—” He tilted his head to the side to include his mate. “—are headed into NOLA to meet some friends.”
“And apparently, it’s rude to arrive empty-handed,” Rogue added dryly.
Sammy ducked his head and turned toward one of the display cases to hide his grin. Rogue’s tone dripped with sarcasm, but there was no mistaking the warmth that softened the deep blue of his eyes when he looked at his mate.
“In that case, what can I get you?”
“Hmm, let’s do a dozen petit fours,” Dylan answered after a long pause, tapping his index finger against the glass. “Half a dozen of the fudge cupcakes.” His brow furrowed, and he hummed thoughtfully as he scanned the shelves. “Do you have any of those blood tart things?”
“I have a tray in the back,” he confirmed. “Fresh out of the oven.” In fact, they were sitting on the cooling rack. “How many?”
“Just two,” Dylan answered after a moment of hesitation. “And two black coffees.”
“You got it. Give me a couple of minutes.”
The fact that he even had something to offer at that time of evening spoke to how much his business had grown. In the beginning, he hadn’t been able to cater to a vampire clientele, not when the bakery had closed daily at noon.
He poured the coffees first and secured the lids before carrying them to the counter. Then he ducked into the kitchen to retrieve the tarts. While he worked to box the rest of the order, he wondered how he could bring up the topic of Dominic Rivas.
He doubted Dylan would be able to tell him anything useful. Rogue, on the other hand, worked for the Ministry as a special agent. Granted, Sammy didn’t know exactly what the position entailed, but it sounded like the vampire came into contact with a lot of shifty characters.
Maybe Dominic had been one of them.
“Rogue,” he said, approaching the counter with two teal boxes stacked in his hands. “Um, do you know a werewolf named Dominic Rivas?”
Not exactly subtle, but there really was no easy way to bring it up.
“We’ve met,” Rogue answered, his tone measured. “Why do you ask?”
The cellophane windows crinkled when he set the boxes down on the counter beside the tarts, but he barely heard them over the sound of his own heartbeat. Shoulders tight, neck stiff, he forced himself to meet the vampire’s searching gaze.
He didn’t want to lie. “Can you tell me what you know?”
Dylan glanced between him and Rogue, his brow creased and his jaw tense. “What’s going on? Who’s Dominic Rivas?”
“He’s the alpha of the Blackrock Pack.” As he spoke, Rogue ran a comforting hand down his mate’s arm. “He’s powerful, cunning, and ruthless.”
“He sounds dangerous.”
“Extremely,” Rogue agreed. “His reputation is deserved, but he isn’t cruel for the sake of cruelty. More so, his principles don’t necessarily align with modern sensibilities.”
“You make him sound ancient.” Dylan’s forced laugh died away when Rogue didn’t hurry to correct him. “You’re serious? But I thought he was a werewolf?”
“He is. Partly.”
“And the other part?”
“He’s a mystic.”
Dylan’s frown deepened. “What the hell is that?”
Sammy sent him a grateful smile, relieved Dylan had asked the question for him. The term itself suggested magical origins, but he had never heard of such a thing before.