Page 4 of Stalked (Mating Run #3)

Chapter four

Toby

Toby’s breath curled in the cold night air as he stood at the tree line, the dark stretch of forest yawning before him. The wind rattled brittle leaves overhead, and somewhere deep in the woods, a howl split the silence. Around him, the others shifted uneasily, their fear thick and quiet.

No one spoke. What was there to say?

A week ago, an email had landed in his inbox. No name, no sender—just an offer: Sign up for the annual werewolf mating hunt. Run. Earn a full ride and enough money to keep the lights on, to stop choosing between books and groceries.

It had sounded like a scam. Toby had spent too many years being cautious, too many nights watching his mom weigh the electric bill against the rent to believe in free money.

The mating run. Everyone knew about it. It was a bargain made generations ago, when humans and wolves had first learned to coexist.

One night of terror. One night of surrender. And in exchange? A year of security. It was tradition.

But Toby had never once considered being part of it.

Growing up, he’d known the kind of people who ran. The ones who were desperate, out of options, backed into corners with no way out. They signed their names, took the money, and prayed they were fast enough.

Most weren’t.

Toby had always told himself he was different. Independent. That he could make it on his own. That he could scrape by without selling himself to a monster’s instincts. But tuition had drained his savings, despite the partial scholarship, and bills had piled up…

And then that email had landed in his inbox, like a noose pretending to be a lifeline.

The rules were simple. Run. Be caught. Be claimed.

The thought sent something cold slithering down his spine. He didn’t know who wanted to hunt him. He didn’t know if they’d be cruel, or kind—or if kindness even existed in something like this.

He hadn’t deleted the email. Instead, he’d called the law firm it mentioned, ready to hear that it was all a lie. But the person on the other end had confirmed it: the money was real, already set aside, legally binding.

And it was more than the normal amount.

Someone was running in this year's hunt, and they wanted him in it.

Even then, Toby hadn’t said yes immediately. He’d spent three days lying awake, staring at the cracks in his ceiling, wondering what kind of person put up that kind of cash for human bait. Wondering if he even cared about the answer.

Because the truth was, a small, secret part of him had always thought about something like this.

About being caught.

About being held down, controlled, wanted.

Toby exhaled sharply, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets, fingers curling into fists. He shouldn’t be thinking about that right now. Not with the cold seeping into his bones, not with the hunt about to begin.

But he couldn’t stop himself.

For as long as he could remember, he’d been careful. He had to be. A scholarship kid in a school full of wolves? The best thing he could do was keep his head down, avoid conflict, and never show weakness. He couldn’t afford to be seen as prey—not in any way that mattered.

So he kept that side of himself buried. The side that wanted to be handled. Overpowered. Desired.

The only outlet he had was behind a screen. Faceless, anonymous, a handful of strangers online who didn’t know him, who only saw the version of himself he carefully controlled. A few teasing photos. A few confessions whispered into the void.

But even then, he never gave too much away. Because in real life? In real life, people like him got eaten alive.

People like him didn’t last.

And now he'd put himself in the middle of a goddamn werewolf mating hunt…

Toby let out a quiet, bitter laugh, barely audible over the wind. What the hell was wrong with him?

For a brief, uneasy moment, his mind flickered to Caleb. Could it be him?

Had Caleb, in some twisted, sadistic attempt to make his life hell, somehow put his name on that list? Had he bought Toby’s place in this hunt just to torment him even more?

The thought made his skin crawl… But just as quickly, he dismissed it. No. Caleb was all bark, no bite. He liked posturing, liked playing at power, juvenile bullying shit that—afterwards, when he was patching himself up—made Toby laugh. But Caleb was still just a spoiled, self-important rich kid with nothing better to do. He wouldn't have the patience to orchestrate something like this.

Whoever had sent that email, whoever had put all that money aside, had gone through the effort of making sure the deal was ironclad.

Which meant someone out there wanted him to be caught. Toby swallowed hard, his pulse thrumming. He just didn’t know who.

Now, standing at the forest’s edge, the weight of his choice settled heavy in his bones. He wasn’t the only one desperate enough to be here, but that didn’t mean he felt any less alone.

A rustle in the trees. A shift in the wind.

The werewolves were close.

Someone sucked in a sharp breath beside him. Toby didn’t turn. He could feel them watching from the darkness. His pulse slammed against his ribs, every instinct screaming at him to run now—but the hunt hadn’t begun. Not yet.

A figure stepped forward from the trees, broad-shouldered and impossibly still. His voice was calm, impassive. “You know the rules. Once you enter the woods, you run. If you’re caught, you belong to the wolf who catches you. At dawn, the contract is fulfilled. No outside interference. No leaving the woods before sunrise. No second chances.”

Toby swallowed hard. He thought of bills and eviction notices, of hunger and cold. He thought of claws and teeth, of losing.

Of what it would mean to be caught.

That part had been harder to wrap his head around than the money. The werewolves weren’t hunting for sport. They wanted to unleash their primal instincts—and there were humans willing to let them.

He had never belonged to anyone. Never been wanted in a way that wasn’t transactional. Foster homes, food banks, distant relatives who took him in just long enough to collect a check—everyone in his life wanted him to either make himself useful, or get out of the way.

Love had been a luxury, a thing for people with fewer scars, fewer sharp edges. He didn’t know what it would mean to be desired. To be wanted. To be caught.

The idea twisted something deep in his gut, fear tangled with something dangerously close to hope.

The only werewolves that Toby knew were the ones at the Academy. Caleb and his pack of rich-boy assholes, strutting through campus like they owned it. Smug. Entitled. Always looking for an excuse to remind everyone they were stronger, faster, better. They’d shove past him in the halls, sneering about his height, his build, the way he dressed. They’d never needed a real reason. Toby was human. That was enough.

Toby had assumed all werewolves were the same. Drunk on their own power. Self-important jerks who thought respect was something they could take, not earn.

But… then he’d met Mason.

Heat crept up Toby’s neck at the memory. Those eyes. Green, sharp, unwavering. The way Mason had looked at him—not through him, not like he was something small, something lesser, but like he saw him.

The handshake. Firm, warm, steady. Electricity had snapped through Toby’s body the second their hands met, so strong it had almost made him draw back. He didn't like losing control, being distracted. In a world of werewolves, he had to stay sharp.

But Mason had just stood there, calm, controlled, commanding. He didn’t need to posture. Didn’t need to prove a damn thing. The entire room had bent around his presence without him lifting a finger.

So different from Caleb. So different from anyone.

Toby exhaled slowly, flexing his fingers before brushing them over his palm—the same spot where Mason’s skin had met his. The heat had lingered there all day, along with the scent.

Cedar. Leather. Raw power. Toby hadn’t been able to shake it since.

"Get a grip," he muttered to himself. He shoved his hand into his pocket, forcing his thoughts back to reality. Mason Blackwood was dangerous—just another wolf in designer clothing. Alpha or not, he was cut from the same cloth as the rest of his kind. Arrogant. Entitled. Viewing humans as lesser creatures to be tolerated at best, hunted at worst. The fact that he wore his power with quiet authority instead of Caleb's juvenile aggression didn't make him any less of a threat.

If anything, it made him more dangerous.

Toby shifted his weight, trying to ignore the way his heart raced when he remembered those dark eyes assessing him. Calculating. Seeing too much.

But then the official raised his hand. Toby stopped thinking, all memories of that intense encounter vanishing in the night's cold moonlight.

The whistle blew.