As a thank you for the marvelous sales on Cry Wolf and to whet your appetite for our second book in the Wolves of Wall Street series, we bring you a sneak peek of the first chapter of Lone Wolf (The Wolves of Wall Street #2):
LONE WOLF (THE WOLVES OF WALL STREET #2)
by Jay Ellison
Chef William La Feuvre was putting the finishing touches on a Coq au vin, a French dish of chicken braised with Cognac, lardons, mushrooms and garlic, when he spotted Dylan Mackenzie from across the hot, bustling kitchen. She was standing in the bistro’s pantry, having snuck in the employees’ door, and was quietly observing the controlled chaos taking place in the kitchen of the La Bistro Moderne, the restaurant he and his business partner Nat owned, and one of the hottest French bistros in Chelsea. Sous chefs and pastry chefs, all under William’s rock-solid command, scurried by on one mission or another, and servers in smart uniforms banged in and out of the swinging doors to the crowded dining room beyond.
Dylan’s sudden appearance made William’s heart leap in his chest. As always, the sight of the pretty, petite girl sent him back to another time, another place. His workplace, co-workers, Nat—all of it quickly faded away around him. His chest swelled with pride at the amazingly graceful sight of her. My little girl all grown up…how beautiful she is!
And she was that—slender and leggy, dressed in a smart grey turtleneck with pearl buttons and a long twill skirt and ankle boots, her ribbons of dark, curling hair pinned up with just a few tendrils drifting around her sweet, mocha-colored, heart-shaped face with its lush, dark eyes, soft, full lips, and heavy black lashes.
“Will!” Nat sputtered from the dessert station, waving her arms wildly to catch William’s attention. She pointed at the pot in front of him.
Jerking back to the present, William looked down where he was pouring Cognac wildly, and without paying much attention, into his Dutch oven as well as over the surface of the counter and onto the linoleum floor. Cognac had even splashed down the trousers of his once-immaculate cook’s whites. “Bloody hell,” he said, setting the bottle down with a sigh. The chicken was burning out of control and Cognac surrounded him in a slippery, treacherous puddle. He made a low growl of displeasure in the back of his throat, which he thought—hoped—the other cooks couldn’t hear, and swiftly carried the flaming chicken to the sink to put out the fire.
Generally speaking, he was very good at his job as head chef at the bistro, a position he had worked hard to achieve, but everyone messed up sometimes. He could see Nat snickering from behind her hand as she put the finishing touches on a crème brulee with a hand torch. He shrugged a What can you do? response. He was a fairly easygoing chef; he could afford to make a fool of himself once in a while without his crew making fun of him or enjoying his display of idiocy.
While the relief cook busied himself with mopping up the mess he’d made, William untied his apron and hurried to join Dylan.
“Good job, Chef Boyardee!” Dylan grinned mischievously.
William shrugged, ruffled her hair, barely able to hold back a smile despite her ribbing. “Accidents happen, even to the elite.”
“You’re such a snob, William!”
The two embraced and Dylan gave him a kiss on the cheek.
Seeing Dylan, his adopted daughter, always lifted his spirits. She didn’t often visit him, but when she did, it brightened his whole day—his whole week, in fact. Dylan was a dedicated pack member of the Three Rivers Pack in northeast Pennsylvania, and William was what the others called a lone wolf. A wolf without a dedicated pack. It was not a lifestyle that most werewolves embraced, but he hadn’t had much choice in the matter. His father’s pack didn’t want him, even being a Pedigree, and his current pack was far too strict for his own liking. They enjoyed living “off the grid,” a lifestyle that William had never been able to get behind. Despite being a born werewolf, he liked the big city, the wild energy of the people around him. He liked feeling like an intricate cog in a much greater machine; it made him feel he was valuable, needed.
“What brings you out to the city?” he said.
Some of his coworkers looked on at their open display of affection, probably wondering why the pretty, sixteen-year-old African-American girl was hanging around his neck like her life depended on it, but he didn’t care about them. He didn’t care about the scandal they might be causing. Nat knew he had a child he had adopted, one that lived away at “school,” and it was only ever Nat’s opinion that he worried about.
“I wanted to see you,” Dylan told him, finally letting go, “take you to lunch.” Her voice was strained and not her own.
“Sounds bad,” he joked, setting her down. “What did you do? Or what did I do this time?” He smiled to show that he was kidding.
Dylan didn’t smile back. Her face was tense and serious, and for a brief moment her eyes shifted to wolf and back again. She glanced around to make certain the others in the kitchen were out of earshot. “It’s Ash, William,” she said in a soft lilt. “Our alpha is dead.”