MistNovel - Read Web Novel Stories & Fiction Online

James dragged Emma to his study, his fingers firm around her wrist. The warmth of her skin burned against his palm, a torturous reminder of what he had lost. Six years. Six stolen years.

He released her and threw open his laptop. "Henry Martin. Bring the boy. Now."

Emma's face went white. "You cannot do this. You will scare him."

"You should have thought of that six years ago." The words came out colder than he intended. The regret was a physical ache in his chest, spreading like poison through his veins.

"James, please." Her voice cracked. "He does not know about any of this. About you. About what you are."

"Then it is time he learned." He hit send on the message, his jaw tight. "He is my son. My heir. He belongs here."

"He belongs with me." She stepped forward, anger overriding fear. "I am his mother. I raised him alone while you lived in your fortress, believing the worst of me."

The accusation hit like a physical blow. James's hands clenched into fists. "You left. You vanished. What was I supposed to think?"

"That maybe something was wrong!" Her voice rose. "That maybe I had a reason. That maybe I deserved the benefit of the doubt."

The truth of her words stung, but he pushed it aside. He could not afford softness now. Not when everything he had never known he wanted was finally within reach.

Thirty minutes later, a car pulled into the circular drive. James moved to the window, his enhanced hearing picking up the sound of small footsteps on gravel. His wolf stirred, restless and demanding.

Mine. The word echoed through his mind with primal certainty.

Emma stood frozen in the center of the room, her hands trembling at her sides. "James, I am begging you. Do not do this to him."

He did not answer. Could not answer. Because the door was opening, and Henry Martin was walking in with a small boy whose dark eyes were mirror images of his own.

The world stopped.

James knelt slowly, bringing himself to eye level with his son. His son. The words felt surreal, impossible, yet utterly right.

"Hello, Ryan. I am James."

The boy tilted his head, studying him with an intensity that no six-year-old should possess. "You look like me."

James's breath hitched. "Yes. I do." He extended his hand, palm up, willing it not to shake. "Do you know who I am?"

Ryan glanced at his mother, then back. Without hesitation, he placed his small hand in James's larger one.

The bond snapped into place like a physical force.

Blue light crackled between their joined hands, visible even in the bright afternoon sun. Ryan gasped, his eyes widening. James felt it, the rush of recognition that went soul-deep. He could sense the boy's heartbeat, rapid and strong. Could feel the untapped power coiled inside him, waiting to emerge. Could smell the mix of human and wolf that marked him as hybrid, as special, as his.

His wolf roared with triumph. MINE. MINE. MINE.

"Wow," Ryan whispered. "That tickles."

The innocent observation shattered something inside James's chest. This was his son. His child. Flesh of his flesh, blood of his blood. And he had missed six years of his life because of a smudged phone number and wounded pride.

"Does it hurt?" James asked, his voice rough.

"No. It feels warm. Like sunshine inside." Ryan smiled, still holding his hand. "Are you my dad?"

The question hung in the air. James looked up at Emma, saw the tears streaming down her face, the fear and helplessness warring in her expression.

"Yes," he said, looking back at Ryan. "I am your father."

"Cool." Ryan squeezed his hand. "Mom said you were lost. But you are found now."

Lost. The word cut deeper than any blade. He had been lost, drowning in bitterness and isolation, believing himself betrayed when all along she had been searching for him too.

But it was too late for regrets now. Too late for apologies or explanations. He had his son. And he would not lose him again.

James stood, turning his attention back to Emma. Henry had slipped out quietly, his role complete. They were alone, the three of them. A family, whether she wanted it or not.

"You will live here," James said, his voice flat and commanding. "Both of you. I am not asking."

Emma's chin lifted. "And if I refuse?"

"Then you will never see him again." The words tasted like ash in his mouth, but he forced them out anyway. "I have the resources to keep him here. To prove in any court that I can provide better for him than you can. That he needs me to control what he is becoming."

"You would not."

"I would." He held her gaze, willing her to see his determination. "He is mine, Emma. And I protect what is mine."

Ryan tugged on his hand. "Mom? What is wrong?"

Emma knelt beside her son, her hands shaking as she smoothed his hair. "Nothing, sweetheart. We are just talking."

"Are we staying here?" Ryan looked between them, confusion clouding his small face. "I like it here. It smells like the woods."

"Yes," James said before Emma could answer. "You are staying."

Emma's eyes met his over Ryan's head. The fury and fear in them should have made him hesitate. Should have made him reconsider this path.

But then Ryan smiled up at him, trusting and eager, and James knew he would do anything to keep that smile. Even if it meant destroying the woman he had once held in his arms and called beautiful.

"You have one hour to decide," James said, his tone brooking no argument. "Stay here willingly, or I will make it a legal battle. Either way, Ryan stays."

He turned and walked toward the door, leaving her on the steps of his study. A moment later, he heard her following, heard Ryan's bright chatter about the garden he had glimpsed from the car.

James paused outside the guest wing and called for the guards. "Show Ms. Lopez and Ryan to their quarters. Make sure they have everything they need."

His gaze locked on Emma's one final time. "Welcome home."

The heavy door to the guest wing closed behind them. The lock engaged with a soft click.

She was a prisoner in a gilded cage. And he was the warden who could not let her go.