Page 6 of Stalked

The sharp surge of need hit like a wildfire, sparking deep in his gut and spreading outward, hot, unrelenting. His breath came heavier, his skin too tight. In the wolf's world, Mason wouldn’t be standing here, gripping the edge of his desk like a man on the verge of losing control. He would already be claiming.

Toby beneath him, body shuddering, surrendering inch by inch. His wrists caught in Mason’s grip, his breath ragged against Mason’s throat. His body arching as Mason took, spoiled, ruined him for anyone else…

Mason cursed and shoved the thought away, but it refused to leave. His body was already reacting, already preparing for something his mind knew he could never have.

This isn’t happening. It won’t happen.

And yet, deep in his gut, where instinct ruled and reason didn’t reach—It already had.

“Lydia,” Mason called out, summoning his assistant from another room.

She appeared promptly, her professional demeanor unwavering. “Sir?”

“I need an intel folder on one of Caleb's classmates. Toby Jacobson,” he instructed, already feeling a rush of anticipation at the thought. “Everything you can find: background, interests, connections.”

When it came to running Mason's businesses and protecting his pack, a background check wasn't an unheard-of request. “Of course.” Lydia nodded, already reaching for her tablet. “Do you want it delivered to your office?”

Mason waved her off. “No time for delays. Email it to me.”

As she strode away, Mason paced his study like a caged animal. Toby was everything Caleb was not—careful yet resilient, some quiet brightness burning beneath layers of reserve.

What lay behind those evaluating eyes? Was there a strength waiting to be discovered? Mason leaned against his desk, arms crossed tightly.

If he's just some shallow human, if he's just some everyday, self-centered young man…

Then I'll know my instincts are wrong.

That second chances aren't real.

The moon arced through the night sky. In what felt like no time at all, an email from Lydia hit his inbox with a chime.

Mason scanned the pages quickly: a childhood in a small town, family dynamics strained by financial struggles. Toby’s academic achievements stood out like bright stars against an otherwise predictable sky.

Mason’s eyes flicked over the folder as he absorbed every detail about Toby. The boy's life unfolded before him, every step of his journey laid out for Mason's curiosity.

But Mason wasn't interested in grades and finances. He needed to know therealToby, the one that had held his gaze.

And Lydia always delivered. Her background checks weren't just simple web searches. When it came to unearthing dirt, there was no-one better. All those dirty little secrets you didn't want anyone to find out about… she'd find them. The woman was a bloodhound.

At the bottom of the document were links to several social media accounts.

None of which had Toby's name.

Instead, they were forShyBoy.

Something inside him gnawed at Mason. He opened a browser and typed in one of the addresses.

The screen filled with photos. Mason’s breath caught in his throat. He leaned closer to the screen, his heart pounding like a drum.

Thesedefinitely weren't on Toby's college application.

Mason scrolled through the photos, each click exposing more of a side of Toby he’d never imagined. The first image was artful, taken in the mirror of what looked like a sleek, dimly lit bathroom. Toby—or ShyBoy, here—stood shirtless, face cut off by the mirror's edge, one arm raised above his head, the other holding his phone. Drops of water beaded on his shoulders, glistening as though he'd just stepped out of the shower. His jeans hung precariously low on his hips.

It was a perfectly anonymous photo. Without a face in frame, it could have been any slender young man, in any dorm room the country over.

But here was the real him.

Another photo: Toby lying on his back on crumpled white sheets, his face mostly out of frame but his torso bathed in warm, golden light. His head was turned to the side; all that was visible of his face was his lips, parted as if he were lost in thought—or on the verge of saying something that would ruin you.

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