Page 16 of The Feral Alpha

Rex eyed him now, crouched at the mouth of his den.

Jag never tried to invade Rex’s space. He set his bag down a few paces away and opened it, laying out food on the forest floor. The packages were familiar—sweet, crunchy things inside. Some Rex liked more than the others.

“Been busy lately. Sorry I haven’t stopped by as much. Got a boy I’m watching over.” Jag’s mouth softened into a fond smile. “He’s a sweet one. Shy. Omega.”

“O—mega,” Rex said, rolling the word around in his mouth.

“Yeah.” Jag looked up and blinked, his nostrils flaring. He sniffed again. “Is that—You had an omega here?”

Rex thought about Olson, his body growing hot. “Mine. Olson.” He thought about Olson beneath him, squirming and panting, his hole so tight around Rex’s cock. He rubbed the growing ache between his legs. “Mine.”

“Huh,” Jag said quietly. “Is he coming back?”

Rex’s chest squeezed. He growled again, suddenly scared. Olson had been so furious because Rex had bitten him. He didn’t want Rex to be his alpha.

“Hey,” Jag said. He abandoned the food, coming closer to crouch in front of Rex. “It’s okay. Not every omega is the right one for you.”

Rex shook his head roughly. There was no explaining how right Olson felt. The gray of his eyes, the curve of his lips.

Every single night, Rex saw Olson in his dreams. Sometimes Olson was older, grey threaded through his hair, crow’s feet at his eyes. But frequently, he was much younger.

He dreamed of Olson holding an ice cream cone, leaning into Rex’s shoulder with a bright, carefree smile.

He dreamed of Olson tugging him along a sidewalk, hurrying to his parents’ house.

He dreamed of them sitting at small square tables with pencils in their hands, filling out something on paper.

He dreamed of Olson beneath him, his hands cradling Rex’s face, the full moon reflected in his eyes, the kisses they shared making his heart swell.

And he dreamed of agony, of Olson hovering over him, his face crumpling in devastation, his tears dripping onto Rex’s cheeks.

“Olson,” Rex growled, his chest hurting with emptiness. “Mine.”

Only Olson. No one else.

Jag looked at him for a long moment, and sighed. “Okay. The thing about omegas is that you have to respect them, all right? If they say no, it means no. You don’t do something they don’t want you to do, or you’ll end up hurting them.”

Rex dropped his gaze. He knew that now.

Jag winced. He reached out slowly, setting his hand on Rex’s shoulder. “Give him some time. Maybe he’ll change his mind.”

Rex shrugged.

Jag returned to his backpack. “I brought you some roast chicken, too. It’s still hot from the oven. Eat it before it gets cold.”

He handed a warm paper box to Rex, but even the aroma didn’t stir Rex’s appetite, not when he still remembered Olson stalking off, his cheeks flushed with anger.

Jag sighed. “Don’t leave it uneaten for too long. You don’t have a fridge, so it’ll spoil by the end of the day. Eat. I don’t have to remind you what happens when you eat bad food.”

Rex hunched his shoulders, picking at the closed box.

“I have to go. Take care of yourself, son. I don’t want to see you getting jailed or knocked down by a car, all right?”

Jag patted him on the shoulder. Then he turned and left the way he’d come.

It wasn’t too long after Jag left, that Rex heard a twig snap.

He lifted his head. The sound had been faint, almost like he’d imagined it, except he knew he hadn’t.

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