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.
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.