“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.
Rogue looked between them, his expression unreadable. “Mystics are celestials.”
“They’re gods?” Sammy blurted.