Page 2 of Stalked

Mason exhaled slowly through his nose, his wolf bristling at the words, at what they meant. Not just a weaker boy, not just another werewolf at the bottom of the pecking order—a human. One of the few allowed into Silverridge under the academy’s carefully maintained program. A symbol of the truce between their kind, of the fragile balance they maintained with humans.

They weren’t supposed to be animals anymore.

And yet his son had chosen to hunt like one.

Something cold settled in his gut, sharper than anger, heavier than disappointment. This wasn’t dominance. It wasn’t strength. Preying on the weak wasn’t power… That was failure.

Before he could respond to that thought, the door swung open. Caleb slouched inside, his blond hair falling over his forehead, smirk firmly in place. Like he had better things to do. Like this was a joke.

"Dad, you're here? Oh man, this is ridiculous," Caleb muttered, avoiding eye contact with both men. "Why do I have to be here?"

Mason’s eyes narrowed. "Sit down."

Caleb flopped into a chair with exaggerated defiance, arms crossed. "It’s not like I did anything wrong."

Mason leaned forward, his voice low, measured. "Is that so?"

Caleb shrugged, smug. "Some people just can’t take a joke. That nerd is weak—"

Mason didn't raise his voice, didn't make a scene—he didn’t need to. He simply loomed, all calm, controlled power, his presence enough to make the headmaster tense. "Bullying a human to impress your friends?" His voice was quiet but edged. "That’s what you consider being a proud werewolf?"

Caleb’s smirk faltered for half a second. "Toby’s just a nobody. Who even cares?"

Mason’s jaw tightened. This was a boy playing at power—and playing poorly. "When my son acts like an unmannered mutt, I care. Whoever this human is, you will apologize to him. And you willmeanit."

Caleb rolled his eyes, but Mason saw it—that flicker of hesitation beneath the bravado, the tiny crack in his confidence.

Then it was gone. Mason still remembered the boy who used to look up at him with wide, trusting eyes, who used to hang on his every word. But now? Now his son barely heard him at all.

“Fine,” Caleb muttered insincerely, slouching deeper into his chair.

Mason exhaled slowly, the weight of fatherhood pressing down like a mountain. He had wanted more for his son: more integrity, more discipline. Not this posturing, not this desperate need to prove himself at someone else’s expense.

After his partner had died, Mason had done everything he could to raise Caleb right. He’d tried to teach him that real strength wasn’t about how hard you hit, but how well you carried your own. That leadership was earned, not taken.

But the older Caleb got, the less he listened. Somewhere along the way, his son had stopped looking to him for guidance and started looking to his peers instead—the privileged little wolves at this academy, all vying for their own version of power.

Mason could feel him slipping away. And the wolf inside him hated it.

The full moon’s pull gnawed at the edges of his control, his blood running hotter, sharper, restless. The instinct to correct, to command, to take coiled deep in his gut, barely held in check beneath the crisp lines of his suit. He wasn’t a pup. He didn’t let his wolf rule him. But it was there, watching, waiting.

And right now, it was pissed.

His son—his blood—had turned into something he didn’t recognize. A boy who thought strength came from tearing others down, not from standing unshaken. It made something dark churn in Mason’s chest. If he couldn’t reach Caleb, if he couldn’t get through to him…

Headmaster Sullivan cleared his throat. “Let’s bring Toby in now. Alexandra, if you could?”

The door creaked open. Mason barely looked up at first, too caught in his own thoughts—until the scent hit him.

Fresh rain. Crisp autumn air. Something warm underneath, like a fire just starting to burn.

His wolf went silent. Mason’s body went tight, the tension snapping through his spine like a pulled wire.

A slender young man stood in the doorway, his dark curls slightly mussed, his uniform a little too big in a way that suggested it had been handed down. Bright, sharp green eyes met Mason’s—and didn’t flinch.

Mason’s wolf lunged forward, slamming into the cage of his ribs. Heat licked down his spine, something deep and primal crackling through him like lightning. Want. Pure, instinctual want.

He forced himself to breathe, clenching his fists so hard his nails bit into his palms. This was his son’s victim. A human. A young man half his age.

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