Jake Mason Pjo Novels & Stories

​Before the engine could even cut out, the heavy oak front door of the main house slammed open. ​"Look who finally decided to bring the hostage!" a loud, booming voice echoed across the lawn. ​Jacob "Jake" Bill lounged on the porch railing, a half-eaten green apple in one hand and a basketball spinning effortlessly on the index finger of his other. Jake was nineteen, six-foot-one, with a messy, sun-bleached brown crew cut and sharp green eyes that always looked like they were searching for the nearest source of entertainment. He was Mike's childhood shadow—wherever Mike went, Jake was usually raiding the fridge or causing a scene close behind.

That would be just like a dragon. She couldn’t help sneaking another glance as he crossed the room. That was when he noticed her and stopped in his tracks. His silver eyes glinted as they caught hers, and she was certain she saw a hint of his dragon. Okay, she counseled herself. Enough with the dragon shifter shit. Jack is not a dragon, even if he looked like smoke should have been curling from his nostrils and he was about to breathe fire. “Jack. Carter,” Mason said, getting to his feet and reaching over his desk to shake hands with the two men. “I’m so glad you could make it on short notice.”

But beneath all that glamour, she’s just Molly—my confidante, my mirror, my ride or die. Then there’s Jake—Jacob, really—but we’ve long since dropped the formalities. He’s Christian’s best friend and Molly’s boyfriend. We met him in middle school, back when his mother and Christian’s mother would plan grand brunches and charity galas. Jake's father runs a textile empire that spans continents. He had a crush on Molly from day one, but she brushed him off, calling him a heartbreaker. He chased her for years, and she finally caved in sophomore year of high school. Now, they’re a match made in couture heaven. Molly jokes that while Jake’s factories create the fabric, her genius brings the design

“And don’t think I didn’t notice how much you’ve grown. What have they been feeding you?” “Mostly pancakes,” he shrugs. “But I didn’t grow that much. I don’t even have my wolf yet.” “You have. You’re practically a teenager now. You’ll have your wolf before we know it.” He beams at that. Behind him, Paige appears in the doorway, Liora tucked gently against her chest. “Don’t let him fool you; we definitely feed him more than pancakes,” she calls. “Too late,” Jake laughs beside me. Jaxon ignores his mum and grabs my hand.

And not one I’ve ever seen. My breath stutters. The world tilts. Because in the picture— Noah isn’t alone. Standing next to him, half in shadow, is another student. A boy with messy hair. Hooded eyes. A Blackridge jacket. And on the bottom corner, in faint smudged ink— Mason Vale. My stomach drops. “Mason…” I whisper. “No. That’s impossible. Mason disappeared a year before Noah.” “Not before,” Jace says quietly. “After.”

Mason even stares at his screen, waiting for an answer. -Jace: Why is Norali asking? New career path? -Jace: If so, I could offer some tips. She should practice in front of me. He did not just text that to my brother. Mason, unfazed, snorts. "My name would be The Professor’s Slut," I joke, though nerves bubble in my stomach. Mason shakes his head, looking disappointed. "You’re disgusting," he mutters. -Mason: Not you pushing my baby sister into p**n.

but i must save jake, he's probably hurting or hungry somewhere" "we need to think through if you want to hand over a madrees to a stranger who's probably a psycho?" "why other choice do i have?don't you get me jason? jake is i'm danger just because i couldn't turn down some sukb school project and got him involved with the pack house" "too bad" "wait jason i remember, the person who took jake captive is a teacher, my history teacher" jason stares at nadir in disbelief like she had just gone crazy and all,

He said, motioning for me to follow him. Dread coiled in my stomach. “Has something happened to him?” “I’ll explain on the way.” My mind raced with thoughts of Jake. What had he gotten himself into? “You’re done with all your subjects?” he asked as if that really mattered to him. “Yeah, exams are finally over,” I replied, waiting for him to spill out because, in my heart, worries started to make me sick. “Where’s Jake?” Mason’s grip tightened on the steering wheel. “BlackWager Fight Club.”

“You’re here visiting?” “I am,” Mason says and leans forward, flashing a smirk at Poppy. “I’ll be leaving soon for a top-secret assignment.” I don’t know if it’s a blessing or a curse to have such little shame. “If I could tell you about it, I would,” Mason goes on. “But you know who can talk about his job? My dear brother, Jacob.”

So did I. “Want another?” Jace asked, lifting the bourbon bottle. “Last one,” I said, lying. He poured. We drank. Mason sat across, elbows on knees, eyes low, face unreadable. He has that dark mechanic-poet thing—tattoos, scar across one eyebrow, voice that rarely lifts. When he finally spoke, it went through me. “You happy?” he asked. “With Caleb?” I laughed too loudly. “Yeah. Sure. Why?”