Wolf Mountain Book 2 A Wolf Affair Trilogy

September 3, 2005.

 “Do not move.”

I had lost my sense of anticipation. That's what happens when you become a lone wolf.

"Do exactly what I say or you die."

I could feel my heart racing despite my best attempt to compose myself. The accent was masculine and Italian.

There was no quake or tremor in the man's voice. His tone sounded calm and detailed. This was no hoax, if I went out of line, I would die.

I tried to rack my brain to figure out how I had gotten into this position but at the moment, my head was synonymous with a blank sheet of paper.

There was no mistaking the fact that he was a wolf as I was. I could smell his scent, the musky smell, kind of like a wet dog or a bear and the unmistakable feeling that he was a wild creature and a top predator. I had to thread carefully.

“What do you want?"

I asked fearfully as the cold steel of his gun pressed into the small of my back. I could smell the power radiating off him, he was a high-ranked wolf, not an Alpha like I was but he commanded respect and he knew he had all the chips and he intended to use them judiciously.

I needed a distraction and I needed it fast before he got trigger happy and my insides were sprayed out on the white tiles of the bathroom floor.

My first instinct was to lean into the barrel and spin sharply to his right, turning the barrel away from my body. The man was probably left-handed, he would need a second or two to adjust his aim and that was enough time. He would be exposed on his right-hand side and I could land on a blow through that exposed gap giving me enough leverage to break his arm and bury a bullet into his forehead. I also had the option of breaking my long-standing rule and shifting into a wolf and tearing him to pieces, there were very few wolves that could take me down in single combat and despite his obvious strength, I knew I would take him down eventually.

Old memories. But the guy who could do those things wasn't around anymore. He was consigned to the grave along with my past which I happily buried and moved on.

"I know what you're thinking, Logan. No need for that."

He knew my name.

Something wasn’t right. I didn’t go by that name anymore, he was a man from my ugly past and I couldn’t fathom what he wanted from me. I had made sure to cover my tracks and remain under the radar for quite a long time.

Everyone from my past was either dead due to circumstances or by my own doing. I had a knack for remembering scents or voices but I couldn’t quite place this man’s, I was at a disadvantage this time around.

Slowly, I lifted my head and looked into the mirror in front of me. His face was unfamiliar, I had never seen him before.

He was a gigantic man, with tattoos stretching over his shaved head, running down to his neck, and disappearing underneath his big black coat. His face was partially charred making him look even more lethal, maybe that was why he was unrecognizable.

I wondered how he had gotten past the security at the front door. Sam's kitchen was one of the best food restaurants in New York City and it was exclusively for the rich and successful. A meal here costs more than what many people earned in a month and I had dinner here anytime I needed to put in a night shift at the office or any time I was running late. From my observation over the past few years, men like him weren't welcomed here, it was bad for the brand and business as well.

Sam loved nothing more than making sure his businesses had no issue, everyone knew what a perfectionist he was, and knowing how strict the employees were, there was no way the big man would have gotten past the security guards.

Except, if he had gotten in through the back door. It was either someone had tipped him off about where I would be or I was being watched and that meant my family could be in grave danger as well.

There was no need to check if the CCTV cameras conspicuously hidden in the bathroom were working, they wouldn't be. You wouldn't risk coming into one of the safest restaurants in New York without taking care of every little detail that mattered, especially one as important as this.

"Who are you?" I asked again. More composed this time.

“You don't remember me, do you?" His tone was more chilling than the cold during the winter months in Russia. A slight shake of my head gave him the answer he needed and he chuckled.

“You messed with the wrong people in your past. It's time for you to answer to the murders you committed."

He snarled at me, I could feel the anger radiating off him in waves. I gripped the faucet, my fingers wrapped around its porcelain composition as I stared hard at his reflection in the mirror directly above the faucet.

His eyes were beginning to glow, he was slowly losing control and I needed to continue to push him over the edge to take control of the situation before it escalated.

"I don't know what you're talking about, you've got the wrong person."

The man said nothing at first, it was eerily quiet. He narrowed his already glowing eyes, deep in thought. He just glared at me quizzically. There was no sound, other than my heart jackknifing in my ribcage. I recognized the accent but I couldn’t make any trace to any Italian pack I might have crossed in the past but I couldn’t come up with any asides from one I watched burn to the ground decades ago.

"We have your wife and son, Logan."