Bordered on three sides by acres of dense forest, the Greek Revival mansion reminded him of a less audacious version of Blackhaven Bayou—big, white, and unapologetically dramatic. The stone steps gleamed in the landscape lighting, wide at the base but narrowing as they climbed toward the beveled portico.
The entrance bowed outward in a smooth curve, the ceiling doubling as an upstairs balcony supported by a row of etched columns. Above, an arched window drew his attention to the center of the gabled roof. Probably an attic, but with a light burning through the frosted panes, he couldn’t be sure.
But then there were the little things, the details that made the house feel lived in and welcoming rather than lavish for the sake of grandeur.
The row of muddy boots in various sizes lined up beside the front door. Furniture cushions that appeared thin and sun-washed. A butterfly wind chime hanging from the eaves. A plush pet bed tucked under a round table, the size indicating it was meant for a cat or maybe a small dog.
“How many people live here?”
“Six of us live here full-time, but there are always people coming and going.” As he spoke, Dominic toed his boots off and kicked them toward the wall. Then he motioned for Sammy to do the same with his sneakers.
“Thierry has a thing about shoes in the house.”
Sammy shrugged and added his shoes to the pile. It made sense to him, but he did find it interesting that Dominic followed the rule like everyone else. The alpha didn’t strike him as particularly accommodating.
Warm air scented with lemon and vanilla rushed out to greet him when Dominic pushed open the front door. The combination shouldn’t have worked together, yet it did, a perfect balance of sharp and sweet.
He detected a chemical quality to it, though, an abrasiveness that stung his nostrils. A cleaner of some sort, if he had to guess. A wood polish, or maybe even a disinfectant.
“You’ll get used to it.”
Again, Sammy shrugged. He could think of worse things than a clean house.
“Thierry?”
“Thierry.”
Seeing that Dominic didn’t question it or show any resentment toward the wolf told him a lot more about his new mate than rumors and hearsay ever could. Like the fact that, despite his reputation for ruthlessness, he was kind of a softie when it came to the people he cared about.
Following him inside, Sammy stepped into a long, narrow entrance hall with high ceilings and an honest-to-the-gods chandelier. Wide staircases bracketed the door, each curving upward to meet at the second-floor landing that overlooked the foyer.
An accent wall of smoky teal displayed a collection of artwork and a huge ornate mirror framed in brass. The leather chairs placed beneath the mirror didn’t look all that comfortable, but they definitely added to the aesthetic.
Every surface, from the furniture to the hardwood floors, had been polished to within an inch of its life until it gleamed in the warm amber light.
He didn’t see any signs of life here like he had outside. No mail on the tabletop. No keys or wallets. Not even a random penny or other pocket litter people accumulated throughout the day.
Rather, the space had one job—to make a statement. He just didn’t know what it was trying to say.
Dominic stripped off his leather jacket and hung it on the rack next to the left staircase, revealing a fitted black tee that stretched taut across his broad chest. It was a practiced move,born of habit, obvious by the way he performed the act perfectly without looking away from his phone.
“You can leave your stuff here.” Without waiting for a response, he took Sammy’s duffel by the strap and dropped it into one of the chairs. “Are you hungry?”
Dragging his gaze away from the sleeve of black and gray tattoos that adorned the male’s left arm, he forced himself to meet his eyes instead. He still felt queasy, both from nerves and his first time teleporting. It hadn’t exactly sounded like a question, though.
“I could eat."
“You like pizza?”
“I do.”
Dominic smiled, quick and fleeting, and jerked his head for Sammy to follow. “This way.”
From the foyer, they passed through a sitting room decorated in shades of teal and cream. The furniture there looked more comfortable, but not as if it saw much use either.
Then Dominic led him down a long corridor lined with brass wall sconces and several closed doors on one side. The other side of the hallway appeared dedicated entirely to a formal dining room with a long table that seated twelve.
Laden with gold-rimmed plates, gleaming cutlery, and bouquets of fresh flowers, it looked stunning, but not very practical. Perhaps he didn’t understand wealth. Did rich people have whole rooms set aside purely for display?