Page 3 of Stalked

He had no right to react like this.

And yet—he couldn’t look away.

What. The.Fuck.

Chapter two

Mason

Toby.Twenty.Ascholarshipstudent with none of the academy's silver-spoon pedigree.

And fuck if he wasn't the most magnetic thing Mason had seen in years.

Not pretty—striking. All sharp angles and lean muscle under worn jeans that hugged narrow hips. Those blue eyes didn't wander; they cataloged the room like a thief casing a score. Smart. Dangerous, in his own way.

When the kid pushed back a lock of tousled brown hair, Mason's wolf surged forward so violently he nearly growled aloud. His fingers dug into the chair arms, wood creaking under supernatural strength.

Mine.

The thought wasn't rational. Wasn't human. It was pure predator instinct, screaming through his blood like a fever. His canines ached, wanting to descend, to mark.

This close, Mason could smell him. Clean sweat. Cheap soap. Something else underneath—something wild that called to the beast inside him. His nostrils flared, drinking it in before he could stop himself.

Twenty goddamn years old. A boy. His son's classmate.

And his wolf didn't care. It recognized something in Toby that Mason's rational mind couldn't process. Something that resonated on a primal frequency he'd thought dead since he'd buried his mate.

Mine to chase. Mine to claim. Mine to keep safe.

Mason's vision sharpened, the world going crisp at the edges. His wolf clawing for control.

The certainty of it hit Mason like a hammer to the chest. His grip tightened on the arms of his chair. Nonsense.Impossible. He didn’t even know this boy, had never laid eyes on him before today. It was nothing but a trick of his overworked instincts.

No. He would not become this. Would not let the moon's pull override reason.

And yet, his body rebelled.

His gaze dragged over Toby’s frame, unbidden. Lean, but not fragile—cords of muscle subtly defined beneath the stiff fabric of his academy uniform. His hands, elegant but strong, flexed at his sides like he was ready to fight or flee, and the thought of either sent a sharp bolt of heat through Mason’s gut.

His collar sat askew, the barest sliver of collarbone exposed, and Mason’s wolf fixated on the skin there, a sudden, maddening urge rising in him to press his mouth to it, to taste the heat of Toby’s pulse.

Ridiculous.

He exhaled sharply, forcing himself to look away, grinding his molars. This was Caleb’s victim. A human half his age. Off-limits in every way that mattered. This was just… an unfortunate trick of timing. A physical reaction, nothing more. Too many years spent ignoring the pull of the mating run, too many nights pushing down urges he had no outlet for. His body was restless, his instincts coiled tight, looking for any excuse to latch onto something.Someone.

An ugly, bitter feeling settled in the back of his throat like smoke. That was the thing no one talked about, wasn’t it? That even an alpha could be left behind. That even the strongest could rot inside from the hollow ache of losing something they had once been certain of.

Mason forced the tension from his shoulders, shoved the pull down deep where it couldn’t touch him, where it couldn’t mean anything. This was just the itch of long-denied instinct, nothing more.

His wolf stirred in protest. Mason ignored it.

Toby was watching him now, head tilted slightly, as if he could sense something beneath the surface, something Mason wasn’t willing to name.

“Come in,” Sullivan said, oblivious to the fact that Mason’s world had just tilted off its axis.

Toby hesitated. He lingered in the doorway, gaze flicking to Sullivan, then to Caleb. His shoulders tensed, a defensive set Mason had seen before—on men who had learned the hard way to protect themselves.

Without thinking, Mason spoke. “Toby, was it?”

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