“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.