Page 5 of Stalked

"Mr. Blackwood."

The sound of Toby's voice made Mason pause, one hand on the door. He didn't turn, couldn't risk showing what might be in his eyes. "Yes?"

"They say you guest lecture for the business program sometimes." The words were casual, but the intent behind them wasn't. "I'd be interested to hear what you have to say."

Mason allowed himself one glance back, meeting those calculating blue eyes. "Perhaps you will."

Chapter three

Mason

Masonsteppedintohisspacious home, the heavy door clicking shut behind him. The empty foyer stretched out in front of him, almost suffocating, but it couldn’t quiet the storm inside his head.

Caleb’s blatant disrespect had sparked his anger, but it was Toby—so wounded, so cautious—that seemed to crawl under Mason’s skin, gnawing at him.

He crossed the threshold into his study, the scent of old leather and worn books filling the air. The walls, adorned with artifacts and trophies collected over years of tradition, should’ve grounded him. This room had always been a retreat for Mason, a place to process the weight of leadership and responsibility. But tonight, it was just a prison, its walls closing in as his thoughts circled back to Toby.

Mason leaned against his desk, fingers absently tracing the edge of an antique he barely saw. His mind wasn’t in this room. It wasn’t in the present.

It was back there. With him.

Toby.

The sharp tilt of his chin, the tension in his shoulders—bracing, but not breaking. The way his blue eyes had flickered, not in fear, but in assessment. Like he was taking Mason’s measure, deciding what to do with him.

Mason exhaled, slow, controlled.

He hadn’t felt this in years.

His wolf clawed at him from the inside, pushing a single word through his consciousness: Mate.

"No." The word tore from his throat, harsh in the silence of the study.

Mason reached for the silver-framed photograph on his desk—the one he couldn't bear to put away, even after all this time. His fingers shook slightly as they traced the smiling face in the image. Five years gone, and the pain still felt like yesterday.

That had been his forever. His one chance at the mating bond that Pack legends spoke of—rare, sacred, eternal. He'd buried his heart in that grave. Accepted the hollow ache as the price for having once known such completion.

And now this? A human boy half his age who made his wolf pace and snarl with need?

"It's not possible," he whispered to the empty room.

But his body knew differently. The primal recognition couldn't be reasoned with or bargained away. It simply was. His wolf had scented what his human mind refused to accept—that somehow, against all reason and timing, the universe had given him a second chance.

A second mate.

It had been so long that he’d convinced himself he never would again. That whatever part of him had been meant for one person only had died with them, burned to ash and left to fade.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. Not like this.

Mason’s hands curled into fists against the desk, jaw tightening. This was wrong.

Toby was twenty. A boy. Half his age.

Mason had fought his own nature before. He knew how to control himself, knew how to want and not take. But his wolf didn’t give a damn about age or timing or what was supposed to be.

It knew.

And it wanted.

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