Mason could not believe his ears. She was back. After all this time, Abigail Vicente had come home.
“Mason? Mr. Andrews from the bank called when she came in and tried to access her old account. He had to tell her it had been closed the past ten years,” Claire’s voice sounded far away when she spoke.
As if she hadn’t been standing right in front of his desk. His new VP of Marketing interrupted a rather important call to his contacts in Japan to tell him the news. Apparently, his new administrative assistant was a little intimidated by him and asked her to deliver the news.
He’d have to chat with the young man he’d hired as a favor to his Alpha. David Matthews was a local kid. A Werewolf too. Like Mason. But he’d been kind of sheltered most of his life. He had no knowledge of his supernatural side until his Change.
He was a later bloomer. It happened just a few weeks ago. Right after the kid had graduated from high school. Rafe had come to him and asked him to hire the kid as an intern before he started college courses in the fall. Mason didn’t mind one bit. He’d just have to teach the young man that, although Mason was a dominant Wolf, he wasn’t an animal.
Even if he’d felt like one when Claire dropped that bomb on him. His conservative employee looked at him with sympathy in her dark brown eyes. She’d closed the door after delivering the news. She knew him well enough that she respected his privacy. He could hardly imagine what his facial expression had been when he’d heard the news.
His head felt like it would explode from the thundering roar that rang in his ears. Maybe it was his heartbeat, maybe it was something else he couldn’t name. He’d hung up on his call to Japan without a single word and left the office.
There was no way he’d miss the opportunity to tell Abigail Vicente exactly where she could go after what she’d done to him! He deserved answers, damn it. Just what the hell was she trying to pull? Going to the bank? Then to the house?
After he’d gotten in the car, he’d called a few people he knew, and it seemed she’d been at the Vicente home all day. Digging for buried treasure maybe? Cold-hearted to the end, he thought to himself as he sped down the street.
The letters and emails he’d sent had gone unanswered for years. He tried one last time after her father passed away. That was months ago.
Maybe she was just after the money. After all, news of his success had been blasted across the internet since the past winter when he launched Bite: Seasons. It was the latest in his flavored artisan whiskey.
The idea was his. To come out with a new flavor of Bite every three months with the start of each season, named appropriately of course. He began with Spring Bite which was an unmitigated success.
With its rich floral bouquet and bright flavor that was savory and satisfying on the tongue, Spring Bite was exceedingly very received. He’d approved ad campaigns that featured a bride and groom mid-dance with a tumbler and bottle. It had been a great campaign, very well received.
After launching his original product, Bite, several years ago Mason had one hit after another. Bite was a real-life American success story. His success story featured in over seventy liquor e-magazines and blogs.
Mason, himself, was featured in an even bigger article for New Jersey magazine. True, he wasn’t having the same stroke of luck with the Summer Bite campaign, but that was neither here nor there. He’d figure it out. He always did.
Right then, he was more concerned with the impending confrontation with his ex-lover. If she thought she was going to waltz back into town and demand twenty percent of the company he’d built up from the ground, she had another thing coming!
It was his company. Vicente Spirits was bankrupt within three years after she’d left. If she thought she was getting a dollar from him, she was nuts. The Vicente princess was going to have to work for a living if she wanted to stay in Maccon City.
The only problem was he’d already hired every lawyer on the East coast to break the will. Damn him for trusting the old man! He was tricked into giving Hector that twenty percent plain and simple. If she thought he’d roll over like a lovesick puppy, then she had another thing coming!
The Vicente name had been an asset in the beginning, but her father had nowhere near Mason’s current net worth. Furthermore, when he died, he was in serious debt. Mason had paid it all off. He’d covered every one of Hector Vicente’s debts.
Mason had settled the old man’s medical bills and the two mortgages that he’d taken out on the family estate. Technically, he owned the house that woman was currently squatting in!
She hadn’t bothered to come home in ten years. Not once. Not to visit the place or to see her own father. That was not the Abigail he’d once known.
Whatever. Maybe he’d never really known her at all. Well, either way, he wasn’t going to give her a penny! Not one red cent! He’d make her give him what was his. Hell, he might even kick her off the damned property right now. It was more than she deserved, if he let her stay!
All those long, lonely years, he’d felt like a pathetic bastard unworthy of even looking at her. The Vicente princess. All the guys around the distillery had called her that. He’d heard it long before he’d ever met her. Shit. Then he’d talked to her and, bam, he’d fallen in love.
She’d loved him too or at least that was what she had said. And he’d believed it. He had honestly thought that his piss-poor origins hadn’t bothered her. That had been the biggest lie of all. She’d left him after their first time together and, as far as he knew, she’d never looked back.
Mason had had to pick up the pieces of his broken heart alone. Hell, if he was being honest, he was still doing just that.
Werewolves fell hard. He’d heard that for most of his life, though he had not witnessed it firsthand. He could hardly recall his parents anymore. He had Pack, true, but no family and few friends. No one he could really depend on. He did not trust easily.
Werewolves mate for life. He’d heard that also. Maybe he ruined himself for any other woman when he’d laid eyes on Abigail Vicente. His attempts to date certainly hadn’t panned out. His Wolf was offended by the idea of being intimate with another woman. There’d been no one since her. Ten long years.
That wasn’t as crazy as it sounded. He was acquainted with an older Wolf, Mike Bellamy, who was renowned for being celibate. He was the owner of a local bar, The Thirsty Dog. He’d been Mason’s first customer. The first twenty crates of Bite were sold and drunk at his place.
He was a hell of a guy, but he had a sadness about him. Mike’s wife, Sheryl, had passed away during a difficult childbirth some years ago. Immediately afterwards, the man had been unrecognizable.
He’d closed himself off to everyone. Even Pack. In his line of work, he’d come across many willing women, but he’d always shut them down with a cold word or look. The man lived like a monk. He finally started coming back to Pack meetings and taking place in their monthly runs just recently.
Runs were good for Werewolves. It let them flex their muscles and hone their skills. His Alpha had secured a large parcel of land that was safe for the Pack to stretch their claws. It was right behind his home, Maccon Manor. The entire place was called Macconwood, as if it were its own little town or municipality.
He even stocked it with game, so that they could hunt. Mason was fond of those runs, but they were not enough to fill the gaping wound Abigail had caused. Lately, he’d been craving something else. Something more.
He’d been consumed by work the last few years. Pushing himself to create the best damn product he could then sending it all around the world. Bite was huge. And so was his bank account.
He’d been glad when he was able to pay off all of Hector’s debts. The man had been like a father to him in a lot of ways. He’d given him his first job.
Mason still couldn’t believe the old man had double crossed him. Even still, he forgave the bastard. He’d been there for him when Mason had had no one. He’d even apologized for his daughter and begged Mason to forget her.
Even when he got sick, he’d refused to have Mason send private detectives to find her. Not that Mason had any inkling where she’d run off to. But now she was back! Just like that. Well, there was going to be hell to pay for Ms. Vicente. Especially if she thought she was going to hold his company hostage.
He slammed on the brake and put the red sports car in park. He leapt out of the vehicle and took a deep breath. The small cab was barely able to contain him. He missed his goddamn truck and didn’t know why he took the stupid, flashy, impulse-buy when he decided to go see Abigail. Maybe he wanted to impress her?
Fuck, like I’m still a goddamn kid or something. He growled low in his throat at the thought that she could reduce him to this. His Wolf was very near, the brown shaggy beast was prowling back and forth in his mind’s eye.
With all the changes in the Pack lately, he found his Wolf self was closer than ever. It was thrilling and unnerving at the same time. Right now, he sensed something familiar was near.
Mason inhaled. The warm, salty air calmed his otherwise frazzled nerves. He closed his eyes and straightened his button-down shirt and tie before walking towards the house.
His suits were tailor made now, thank you very much. They fit his muscled body to perfection. He looked damn good and he knew it. He was not a boy any longer.
With a determination he didn’t know he possessed, Mason set his jaw and headed for the towering estate. He’d always been intimidated by the Vicente home. Not anymore.
He held all the cards now. He was master of the house. He pulled back his lips in a snarl sensing his prey nearby. And then he saw her.
Mason froze in his tracks. It was as if he’d gone back in time. Abigail was resplendent in her beauty.
She had on a pair of tight jeans and a black tank top. Her ebony hair was pulled back in a ponytail that hung down to her waist. Her pale skin was smooth as he remembered and shining like porcelain in the sunlight. She was still a knockout. Fuck.
Still lean and toned, though her body had matured some. Her breasts and hips were rounded just enough to fill his hands and his mouth. Would she still taste like roses and honey? He growled at the thought.
She’d lost nothing of youth or beauty in her face, no, that remained the same. Especially her eyes. They were a creamy jade green color that he’d never seen before or since.
The urge to run to her, to cover her mouth with his was overwhelming. Mine. His Wolf surged forward in his mind’s eye. Mason faltered a step and put his hand up to cover his eyes. They’d be glowing, he knew.
Damn it. Control yourself. He wrestled with his Wolf, and finally put the beast down. Not mine, the man told his Wolf, she left us. The realization made him want to break something, but he schooled his features to reveal nothing of the emotions churning inside of him.
Though he silently acknowledged the fresh pain that seared his chest. He exhaled and took another step forward. It hurt to look at her and not be able to touch her.
He knew the moment she saw him standing just twenty feet away from her. Her posture changed. She looked, well, she looked almost ready to throw down.
He cocked his head and waited as recognition dawned on her. He watched for any sign of sorrow or regret to cross her face and was confused when he saw fear.
She made to move but stopped in her tracks and looked down the street. Before he could speak a school-bus pulled into the driveway. She had no neighbors. The house was on its own stretch of beachfront property. Why on earth would a school bus stop here?
He turned to look at Abigail. A burgeoning trepidation filled his gut. Her green eyes went wide as she looked from the school bus to Mason and back again.
She calmly put down whatever it was she’d been carrying and walked past him to catch the small boy who leapt off the bus steps and waved goodbye to a few freckle-faced kids whose noses were pushed up against the glass to get a better view of his cherry-red sports car.
“Hey, mommy! How was your day?” The boy was all arms and legs and his voice rang with happiness and innocence as he spoke to Abigail.
What the hell? Did he say ‘mommy’? Mason’s face went stone still as Abigail turned with the child in her arms. She lowered the boy to the ground and both woman and child faced him. Mason’s mind went blank. A child? She has a child?
When his eyes locked on the boy, Mason felt as if he’d fallen into some parallel universe. The boy stood there with his tiny hand in his mother’s, his hair was coal black like Abby’s, but the rest of him was the exact opposite of her.
He was strong and tall for his age. He had dark eyes and the beginnings of what would be a chiseled jaw and high cheekbones underneath the baby fat. His skin was olive toned and in the summer sun he was bronzed and glowing healthily. His nose was straight and his lips wide.
He looked exactly like Mason. Rage fired his blood, but control made him keep still.
“Oliver, this is my friend, Mason. Mason this is Oliver, my son.”
My son. The words roared in his head loud as an ocean. The boy was his. He knew it, he felt it, he saw it in the kid’s features. He breathed in and caught a whiff of the boy’s scent.
It was his scent and something else, something he didn’t understand, but he’d get to that later. His boy. His son. He was beautiful. This time when his Wolf howled Mason did not correct him. Mine. Yes, the boy was his.
Love flooded his heart and pride. He was a father. This was his son. Not alone. Mason had family.
Family that she’d denied him his right for ten long years. Mason used all his strength to keep his anger at bay. He wanted to tear into her for betraying him this way.
He had a feeling something was amiss, but for now he had more important things to attend to. One thing was certain, he would not let this lie stand any longer.
Mason dropped to one knee in front of the boy. Dark brown eyes, the exact same shade and color of his own, watched him intently. He held out a hand and said, “Hello Oliver, I’m your father.”