Chapter 4
Chapter four
When Dominic had settled down at the back of the room to observe the changeling, he hadn’t expected to end up eavesdropping on a conversation about himself.
The vampire had indicated they’d met before, but he didn’t recognize him. Then again, he’d met a lot of vampires in his life. Some memorable. Others not so much. Clearly, this bloodsucker fell into the latter category.
He had, however, been accurate in his description, respectful if not complimentary. Dominic had been called worse.
More interesting, to him anyway, had been Sammy’s reaction.
The changeling had been eager, his expressive eyes wide and his head slightly tilted as he drank in every word. He hadn’t recoiled or curled his lip. He hadn’t cursed Dominic to the darkest depths of the Underworld.
Instead, his response to each new detail had been subtle but positive, fascinated rather than terrified or disgusted. When the conversation had ended abruptly, there had been disappointment etched across his brow, but he hadn’t pressed the nightwalker for more.
The interaction had been telling, not to mention entertaining, and by its conclusion, Dominic had seen enough.
His intention hadn’t been to alarm or intimidate when he’d approached the counter. He damn sure hadn’t meant to growl at the guy. The reaction had been purely involuntary, and it kind of pissed him off that he’d lost control like that, even for a moment.
The scent was subtle, masked by the aroma of coffee, baked goods, and the acrid stench of anxiety, but that hadn’t made it any less potent. Crisp and clean, but also kind of earthy, it brought to mind fresh snow across a moonlit meadow.
It hadn’t been the scent itself that had triggered his response, but the familiarity in it, the primal recognition. Instincts surged, his world tilted, and in the span of a single heartbeat, everything changed.
And Sammy didn’t even know it yet.
“Where is everyone?” The changeling’s gaze slid past him to the seating area.
“They’re not hurt.”
He had simply deposited them outside with the urgent sense that they should return home. The suggestion would wear off in a couple of hours, leaving the recipients mildly confused but without any lingering effects.
“But where are they?” he insisted.
He hugged the back counter, his eyes wide and mildly panicked. Though clearly unnerved, he pushed back and demanded answers. Not many would be so bold.
Dominic liked that.
“Your customers suddenly had an overwhelming desire to leave.”
“Why?”
“So we wouldn’t be interrupted.” He thought that had been obvious.
The male gave a soft snort, and some of the tension bled out of his shoulders. “You could have just asked.”
Not the reaction he had expected, but he’d take a little sass over the startled rabbit look any day.
“You called me,” Dominic reminded him.
“To help me find someone!” Sammy gestured jerkily at the empty bakery. “Not chase away all my customers.”
“Who is it you’re trying to find?” If he was looking for an apology, he wouldn’t get one, and Dominic saw no reason to pretend otherwise.
Sammy looked taken aback for a second. Then he sighed, the remaining tension draining from his body with the breath.
“Would you like some coffee?”
“Excuse me?”
“Coffee,” he repeated, reaching for a couple of teal mugs on the back counter. “Do you want some?”
“No.” He wanted answers. Clarity. Not refreshments.
“Okay.” Sammy poured two cups, brought them both to the counter, and pressed one into Dominic’s hands. “Have some coffee.”
He took it without thinking, too disarmed by the nonchalance to refuse. The warm ceramic felt nice against his palms, and steam spiraled from the contents, carrying the aroma of quality roasted beans.
“Thanks,” he muttered before lifting the rim to his lips. Rich and bold with hints of chocolate and black cherry, the flavors lingered pleasantly on his tongue, even after he’d swallowed. “This is really good.”
“Thanks,” Sammy echoed before taking a sip from his own mug.
“It was supposed to be a limited-time holiday roast, but I might make it a permanent menu item.” Rounding the counter through a swinging gate near the register, he stopped a respectful distance away and nodded to a nearby table. “Would you like to sit?”
Dominic followed him, torn between amusement and disbelief. “Don’t take this the wrong way,” he said as he pulled out one of the chairs. “But you seem oddly calm right now.”
With a noncommittal shrug, Sammy settled into the seat across from him and leaned forward to rest his forearms on the tabletop. “Should I be panicking?”
“I would prefer that you didn’t.”
The smile he received was timid and a little self-deprecating, but it softened the baker’s features, making him look sweet as hell.
Dominic liked that too, but he didn’t trust it.
As a changeling, Sammy was genetically predisposed to read what most appealed to someone and conform to those desires. Not only physically, but by altering his behavior as well.
Older changelings could transform their appearance at will, but it took decades for younglings to learn that level of control. Sammy looked young enough to still struggle, especially in stressful situations, and he likely didn’t realize when he molded himself to fit what other people wanted.
But even the possibility made it difficult for Dominic to gauge the male in front of him. How much was real, and how much of it was Sammy subconsciously adjusting to fit his preferences?
Rather than examine why that bothered him so much, he pushed it away for the time being and decided to focus on something he could control.
“In your messages,” he began, waiting for Sammy to lift his head and look at him before continuing. “You said you didn’t want to discuss anything over the phone.”
Sammy nodded.
“We’re not on the phone now.”
The changeling’s hands clenched around his coffee mug, the skin over the knuckles stretched thin and pale. His gaze lowered to the table, and he caught the corner of his bottom lip between his teeth.
“I need you to help me find my mother,” he blurted after several tense seconds.
“And does your mother have a name?”
“Valerie Halloway.” He glanced up, checking Dominic’s reaction as if the name should mean something to him.
It didn’t.
Not receiving the response he clearly expected, Sammy took a deep breath and added, “She’s not lost, or taken, or anything like that. She just has something I want.”
Dominic arched an eyebrow. “Care to explain that?”
Sammy immediately dropped his head again. “No,” he muttered. “Not really.”
Settling back in his chair, Dominic stretched his legs out under the table and crossed one ankle over the other. He had made his request, and he wasn’t in the habit of repeating himself.
Frankly, if it had been anyone else, he would have already left. If fate had chosen this person for him, though, he wanted to find out why.
“How much do you want to know?” Sammy asked after another significant pause.
“I’m not in any hurry.”
Sammy seemed to have expected the response because he sighed and bobbed his head. Not in understanding exactly, but more like resignation.
“How much do you know about changelings?”
“Enough.” More than he wanted to know.
Sammy winced and shrank back in his seat. “And you know that I’m…”
Dominic dipped his head sharply. “I’m aware.”
He just didn’t know how he felt about being mated to him yet.
“When I was a kid,” Sammy began, “I struggled with control. This was before the Awakening.”
It had been more than fifteen years since Otherlings had stepped out of the shadows and announced themselves to the world. A mistake in Dominic’s opinion, but thanks to the romanticization of paranormals in fiction, the reception had been largely positive.
Dominic studied the male across from him with a scowl.
He guessed Sammy to be in his mid-twenties, which would have made him ten, maybe twelve years old during the early days of the Awakening. It wasn’t unheard of for children to present with powers that young, but it rarely happened naturally.
More commonly, it happened as a result of trauma.
“To protect me,” Sammy continued, “my mom crafted an old locket into a relique. It’s like a—”
“I know what it is.”
Totems like the one he described were exceedingly rare and typically only existed between bonded pairs. Even then, no one would consider reliques casual love tokens, and many side-eyed them as a mark of unhealthy obsession.
Forged from blood magic, the ritual to fashion such an object required explicit and unbiased cooperation. It also tended to be temperamental, and while not intrinsically evil, it could be inarguably dangerous in the wrong hands.
Which sounded like what had happened in this instance. If Valerie had truly been trying to protect her son, he wouldn’t need Dominic’s help.
The more Sammy revealed, the more sinister it sounded.
“How old were you?”
“Nine.”
Dominic gritted his teeth and choked back a growl. At that age, he would have had no understanding of what he was agreeing to, and no way to reverse it once it was done.
“So, your mother is a witch?”
“Half,” Sammy corrected. “But that doesn’t make her any less dangerous.” He sighed and wiped a shaky hand across his mouth. “And no, I didn’t inherit any of her magical abilities.”
Again, not impossible, but magic tended to be one of the more dominant traits produced from a mixed pairing.
He gestured for him to continue. “What happened after the binding ritual?”
“Nothing at first. I didn’t feel any different. My control definitely didn’t improve.” His face twisted, and his eyes darkened to a deep forest green. “When I was sixteen, she sold the relique to the owner of a host club in Galveston, Texas.”
Dominic clenched his fists, squeezing hard enough to make his knuckles crack, the sound like gunfire in the quiet of the bakery.
“As you can imagine,” Sammy added, his voice laced with bitterness, “I was quite popular with the clientele.”