Dire Wolf Mates - Chapter 60: Chapter 60

“Four porterhouses up,” Brock yelled over the dull roar of activity that seemed constant in the busy kitchen.
He’d outfitted the space with the best equipment, though the design was simplistic/ Fitting, seeing as how the menu was mainly grilled meat and fish. He kept things orderly, neat, clean, and his staff knew what their jobs entailed. Anyone caught cutting corners, was fired. No second chances.
Some might call him a cruel boss, but he wasn’t. Brock simply needed the best from his team. It was what he gave, and what he demanded in return. Being head chef was a dream come true, but it was hard work.
Cooking was the fun part. Menu creation a close second. He changed it up every few weeks or so, with different side dishes based on availability and what was in season. The core was the same—steaks, chops, filets, fowl, and whole fish. The ingredients were all top quality. But it was the cooking technique that mattered most, in his opinion.
Brock grunted as his assistants sprinted to get food on plates and out to the servers. Having everything run smoothly and efficiently was of the utmost importance, and as such he believed in quick delivery from flame to plate to customer.
No fuss, no delays.
Shifters had extremely sensitive tastes and food left to sit for any amount of time had already started to spoil. No one wanted to prolong that. True, he wasn’t classically trained in a culinary school, but he had wandered the world for many years and had a natural eye and a nose for tastes.
In his travels, Brock had picked up a lot from various master chefs and above average kitchen Witches over the years. Dire Wolves aged even slower than most Shifters and supes, though he was nearing seventy, he still had the appearance of a thirty-year-old.
Shit.
He’d begun to feel his age just lately. Watching Derrick and Lucy make a home for the cub they were expecting over the past few months had been intense, welcomed, and exciting for sure, but Brock had also started to feel envious of his Alpha.
It was not a good feeling. He was a loyal Wolf, and he loved Derrick like a brother. But yeah, he was jealous, he admitted, even if only to himself. Brock wanted that, too. A family. A mate. His mate.
Ariella.
Her name echoed through his mind. The mere thought of her sent his Dire Wolf to growling. The big, almost white Wolf was completely besotted with the feline. That single kiss they’d shared in the cool creek had not been nearly enough. But he would never take advantage of a woman under the influence, and certainly not one who’d fallen unconscious in his arms. No. he was too much a gentleman for that.
He had simply seen her home, safe and sound. Brock wondered if it wasn’t kismet that she had passed out before things could progress any further. They weren’t there yet. Maybe they wouldn’t ever be.
Fuck. He wasn’t cut out for a mate. Frolicking in the moonlight was one thing. A stolen kiss, another. But having to subject her to his enormous size when she was untried and innocent, well, that was something else entirely.
What if she panicked and ran from him like Jacqueline had all those years ago?
That one experience was the root of all his anxiety. And yet, Brock wondered, how could the Fates be wrong? Warring arguments sounded loudly in his brain until he was practically vibrating with frustration.
Hell, even their resident Pack spitfire had found a mate. Sheila and Leo were like water and oil, but they made it work. Why couldn’t he and Ariella?
He could’ve gone on being lonely forever, but then Derrick mated Lucy and Sheila mated Leo. He had to admit the Lion was a pretty cool guy for a hard ass cop who was also a Prince. Leo was the reason Brock had met Ariella, who was an honorary cousin of the male.
So, he could say Leo was the cause of all his angst, worry, and the ever-growing feeling that something was missing from his life. The fucker. Brock ran a hand over his face. It didn’t matter if Leo was to blame or Sheila, or whoever the fuck. Ariella was fucking worth it.
He recalled the way her soft lips had parted so readily for his. The woman had a mouth made for sin with a sightly plumper upper lip that he wanted to nibble on for days. Her wild curly hair was glorious, a dark halo circling her head. She was beautiful. Perfect.
Mate, his Wolf growled.
Well, fuck.
His dick hardened in his chef pants and Brock was practically vibrating, he was growling so much. He couldn’t concentrate. Not like this.
“No more than three minutes to a side on those four inch steaks, Carlo. That meat goes out rare,” he grunted and handed his tongs to his new sous chef, a half-Fae kid of about three-hundred years old, who’d decided he wanted to be a chef.
The man looked even younger than Brock, but he worked hard and was never late. Carlo nodded and took over the grill with all the seriousness required for the job. The last thing Brock needed was for some Shifter customer to freak the fuck out over a badly cooked steak.
But he had no reason to worry. He had already worked on the sauces for the rest of the dishes, and his staff knew what they were doing. Brock barked out a few more orders, checking one last time to make sure the fish and veggies were all prepped before he walked out of the kitchen.
He trusted his crew. Knew they could handle the Monday dinner rush with efficiency and professionalism. They were a great team and Cole, one of his Pack, was always there to step in if they got in trouble. Brock simply needed some time to think.
“Chef?” Tim, a new server, and Fox Shifter, came rushing into the small locker room they kept for staff. Brock was sitting there with his eyes closed, trying to calm his inner beast. “There’s a woman here to see you.”
Brock opened his eyes and his Wolf stilled inside of him, like the predator he admittedly was who had his prey backed into a corner. Ariella, he thought, and took off his apron. He could hardly contain himself as he stalked through the full tables and weaved between folks just standing by the bar.
He’d been waiting ever since Saturday night for her to call him. Where was she? Brock ran a hand over his head and encountered his tied kerchief. He ripped the thing off and tossed it on an empty stool. It didn’t matter. He had dozens of the things. It would not matter if he lost one. Whatever. He’d just wanted to look better when he saw her again.
There was nothing he could do about the checked chef pants and black chef coat he still wore, but hey, she knew what he did for a living. She wouldn’t have come there expecting anything more. Curiosity got the best of him as he retraced his steps through the dining room and back to the bar once more.
Was she playing some sort of game? He looked over the head of a busty blond who smelled like a flower shop and made his nose itch. The ridiculous woman looked as if she was going to fall over, trying to get his attention.
“Hello there,” she said, offering him with what she must have thought was a seductive smile. Brock was not interested. He nodded and continued to look around for Ariella.
“Excuse me, you are the chef, right? Brock Laurent? I’m Cornelia Higgins,” she said in a husky voice, and offered a freshly manicured hand. Brock looked down at it, making no move to touch the female.
“Yes, I’m the chef. Did you have a question? I don’t have much time, I’m sorry, I am waiting for someone,” he replied, gingerly shaking her offered appendage.
He tried to extract himself, but the woman was cloying. She refused to let go.
“Yes, that would be me,” she replied to his utter confusion, using his momentary lapse as an excuse to push her slender body against his.
What the hell was going on? Where was Ariella? Brock looked through the sparse crowd, but she was nowhere to be found.
“Excuse me, I don’t think so,” he returned, putting space between them, and tugging his hand free of hers none too gently.
He knew she was a Shifter, having scented her fur, which was why he thought it strange she would be so forward. Shifters, especially powerful ones like Dire Wolves, did not like to be touched unless it was invited. Brock was definitely not interested in her hands anywhere near him.
“I asked the server to go get you.”
“What? Why?”
“Well, it is your lucky day, Mr. Laurent,” she started and grinned again, not put off in the slightest that he was less than welcoming. “I’m here to meet the famous chef of the newest Blue Valley hotspot, and to give you the deal of your dreams.”
“Yeah, look, there has been a mistake. I’m busy,” he said and turned to walk away, but the woman grabbed his arm, and it was all he could do to keep still.
His Wolf was snarling. The beast did not want this female to touch him. He hated it.
“Maybe I was not being clear enough. I’m Cornelia Higgins and I represent Eat Well Live Proud, Mr. Laurent. I am completely at your service,” she said and emphasized the service part by tracing every line of his body with her eyes.
Brock stiffened, repulsed by her overly suggestive comments and too intimate glances. He stepped back, away from her grasp. He wasn’t a fan of this Lioness and could tell from the start she meant trouble. He quirked an eyebrow and turned to see Weylin wander over. He was bartending tonight.