Page 51 of The Feral Alpha

Except Rex lifted the camera to his face, and peeked through the viewfinder at Olson.

Just like George had in his dream. Just like what had happened countless times, long ago.

“Fuck,” Olson whispered.

“Olsonnn?” Rex frowned, lowering the camera and stepping closer. “Olson sad.”

“It’s...” Olson sighed heavily. “It’s just... You just remind me so much of my alpha.”

He took the camera and set it back on the shelf, catching Rex’s hand. “C’mon. Let’s shave off your beard. Then I’ll have proof that you’re a different person.”

Rex followed him to the bathroom and sat on the toilet when Olson asked. Olson crouched at his feet, ignoring the growing clamor of alarm bells in his head.

“I’m sorry about your beard. Maybe you can have one again in the future when you’re not in danger anymore. But for now, we need to make you look different. So, no beard.”

Rex shrugged and sat still, eyeing the trimmers warily. Olson adjusted them to the shortest setting and began buzzing off Rex’s facial hair, chunks of it falling onto Rex’s lap. Olson had him tip his face up to the ceiling so he could get under his jaw. While Rex was still looking up, Olson scooted over to his other side, and carefully maneuvered the trimmers so he wouldn’t spook Rex.

He grabbed his can of shaving cream from under the sink, slathering copious amounts of it over the stubble he’d left on Rex’s face.

Then he got his razor and knelt, holding Rex’s head still, making sure to go against the direction of the bristly hairs so there was absolutely no way he’d nick his alpha.

He knew Rex didn’t want to hurt him. But he didn’t know what Rex’s pain response was, when he had so many scars on his body. It was safer to be careful.

Short hairs came away with each swipe of the blade. Olson almost didn’t breathe; he could only hold Rex lightly, and he didn’t know if Rex would turn his head at the slightest sound.

Ever so slowly, the stubble vanished from Rex’s skin, bit by bit until he was finally clean-shaven.

Only then did Olson sit back on his heels, allowing himself to look properly at Rex’s face.

George stared back at him.

He looked a little older, a little more worn.

Olson’s heart stopped. George was dead. Olson visited his grave every year. “H-how?”

His voice broke. Grief swelled through him. Was he looking at a ghost? He was, wasn’t he?

Olson clutched at Rex’s knees, trying to understand how he looked like George. If he was George. How was he looking at a dead man?

“H-how—Why—” Olson tried to breathe, but he couldn’t. Black spots danced through his vision.

George leaned in close, his brow furrowing with concern the exact way Olson thought he’d never see again.

He fainted.

15

NOT GOING CRAZY

When he opened his eyes, he found himself looking at his bedroom ceiling. Olson glanced around, trying to figure how he’d gotten here.

A naked alpha sat with him on the bed. Broad shoulders, scarred flesh.

When the alpha turned, it was George’s face all over again.

A broken sound fell out of Olson’s mouth. “It can’t be you. It just can’t.”

“Ollsonnn?” the alpha growled, prowling closer, covering Olson with his body.

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