Page 6 of The Feral Alpha

Olson hadn’t smelled that in a long time, either.

“Olllsonnnn,” the alpha rumbled, his voice so deep that it stroked down Olson’s spine. “Neeeeed.”

He stalked forward and closed the distance between them, leaning in so their faces were mere inches apart.

It felt as though someone had sucked all the air out of the room.

“Hey, you,” Derek growled.

“Stand down, Derek.” Olson didn’t know why he’d said it. Only that it felt right.

The alpha grasped Olson’s shoulders and pushed him up against a nearby wall. Olson’s pulse spiked. More so when the alpha leaned in, burying his nose in Olson’s hair.

This close, it was easy to see he was twice Olson’s size, with a fine dusting of hair over his skin, almost like fur. The alpha huffed several times like he was smelling Olson, and Olson couldn’t help sniffing back at the maplewood, at the scents of old sweat and dirt and musk.

Except that musk swelled between them, rich and heady. Olson realized that the alpha’s bulge was growing, straining at his threadbare pants like it might tear right through.

He wasn’t wearing any underwear, either. And he was big. A spot of fluid darkened the almost-translucent fabric at his very tip. Olson gulped.

“Olsonnn,” the alpha purred as though he was rolling Olson’s name in his mouth like fine wine, stroking his fingertips down the side of Olson’s face. He picked Olson up by his underarms, lifting him off his feet.

And he pinned Olson to the wall with his own hot, solid body, his bulge wedging neatly between Olson’s legs.

Grinding pointedly upward like he was trying to push between Olson’s cheeks.

Olson bit his lip, shuddering.

“Boss,” Derek growled, stepping closer.

The alpha growled over his shoulder.

“Stay back,” Olson said to Derek.

He couldn’t help being aware of where they touched, this strange alpha who had no qualms about pushing himself against Olson’s most intimate parts within seconds of them meeting.

“Olsonnnn,” the alpha said again. He dragged his sharp teeth down Olson’s throat, all the way to the crook of his neck where the bonding mark was. His teeth pressed deeper.

Don’t touch that mark!

Olson shoved his hands against the alpha’s chest. “No. Not there.”

The alpha growled and frowned. But he drew back, staring at George’s bonding mark with an unreadable expression.

He set Olson back on his feet and caught Olson’s right hand, turning it to expose the double scars on his wrist.

One smaller, one larger.

“Yes,” the alpha said, running his thumb over both. “Right.”

He raised Olson’s wrist to his mouth, and licked the bonding marks.

Olson stared. “What the hell?”

“Mine,” the alpha said.

And he picked Olson up, slinging him over a broad shoulder.

“Hey!” Olson smacked the alpha’s back. “What do you think you’re doing?”