The Defiant Claim - The Claim: Book 2 [LGBTQ+]
Chapter 2 - Sam (Part 2)

Five minutes passed before Cameron returned and they sped down the country roads without another word uttered, taking turns sharper than Sam liked as he clung to his mate.

When they entered the wooded area that shielded the mainland from the humans, Cameron slowed his speed as he turned down the narrow dirt lane. He rolled the windows down, allowing their senses to catch sounds and smells of potential threats. Tension gripped them, their muscles straining in concentration.

Finally breaking through the woods to the valley half the pack resided on, their muscles relaxed as they continued up to the pack houses in the center of the valley. Pulling up to the infirmary on the right side of one of the red brick buildings, Cameron put the car in park and jumped out.

Sam shifted his weight, his left leg numb from supporting most of his mate’s weight. He wiggled his toes as he adjusted his mate in his arms and Cameron opened a door to help him out. He tried not to limp as fresh blood rushed to his starved leg as he carried the male into the building with Cameron holding doors open for him.

“Let’s go to the backroom. More privacy for you there,” Cameron said as they stepped inside.

The infirmary had a dozen narrow beds in the main room with a few more in the back room. All empty.

Sam nodded and followed Cameron to the back room that held only four beds. This room was used more for females recovering from birthing pups. He set his mate down on one of the beds and fell to his knees, burying his face in the crook of his mate’s shoulder.

“I’m really sorry I had to do that,” Cameron whispered and set a pair of clean hospital gowns down next to him.

Sam’s fingers curled into the gowns. Cameron’s voice pricked against the back of his neck and into his heart. He couldn’t bring himself to look at him. “Just go.” His voice cracked as the footsteps of the pack doctor entered.

“What’s going on here?”

“Walk with me. He needs a minute,” Cameron told Dr. Waaban.

The pair left, their voices trailing behind as Cameron quickly filled him in before darting out of the infirmary.

Alone, Sam finally released his grief. He knew his mate would recover but he couldn’t get the memories of Cameron hurting him out of his head. They played over and over again and while he wished he could have stood up more for his mate, he knew he was no match against either of them and his mate wasn’t accepting him. He didn’t know if his mate would turn on him or not and that terrified and hurt him. His mate didn’t accept him at their first encounter and that scared him. What if he couldn’t accept him as he was?

Crying out, he begged the Goddess for his mate’s love and acceptance. Even if it took time, he begged for Her to make it so.

A few minutes later, his anguish was interrupted by Dr. Waaban clearing his throat. “I’m sorry, Sam, but I need to tend to his injuries and broken bones before they start to heal in the wrong positions.”

With a whimper, Sam pulled away. He slipped into one of the gowns and tied it behind his neck and waist before leaning against the doorframe, looking away as the doctor worked.

When he was done, the doctor said, “I’m going to make a cast for him now before our injured start rolling in.”

Nodding meekly, Sam returned to his mate’s bedside as the doctor left to gather supplies. He slipped the other gown on his mate, carefully putting his arms through the sleeves and tying it around his neck. Sᴇaʀch Thᴇ (F)indNƟvᴇl.ɴet website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

“Please give me a chance,” Sam whispered to the unconscious male.

He brushed his fingers through the long, matted hair framing his face. He had a sharp, slightly hooked nose and a beard three inches long and partially covering his narrow lips. Scars were etched across his face and peeking out from the beard. Sam couldn’t help but run his fingers over the beard near his lips. Curiosity urged him to feel the texture while tentatively peering closer at lips he longed to feel against his own.

He pulled away when he heard the doctor’s swift approach with a cart. A female dressed in bright pink scrubs followed him with a mask on. Sam caught her eying his mate and growled lowly at her. She looked away, hanging her head and exposing her neck in submission. No one had ever bent their neck to him before and he held himself a little higher.

The cart was wheeled around to his side with a basin of soapy water and a cloth on top. Dr. Waaban started to clean the wounded leg when Sam stopped him.

“Let me clean him. He’s my responsibility. You can prepare the cast.”

Dr. Waaban nodded and handed Sam the cloth. Sam set to work cleaning the leg and then the arm while the doctor and the nurse wrapped the former. He would clean the rest of his mate later, but for now, he understood the doctor needed to finish his work before the wounded packmates trickled in.

It wasn’t long before the howls of pain came. The leg was completed and the doctor left the nurse to do the arm while he went to check on the new patients in the main room.

After completing the cast and cleaning and dressing his wounds, the nurse left with her head still bowed to him. Sam set to work cleaning the rest of his mate’s body, hoping that he would wake up from the gentle scrubbing, but no. Even his face held no movement as he cleaned it, replacing the basin of dirty water with a fresh soapy one halfway through.

Pulling up a chair, Sam stayed by his side for hours as the war waged on outside and the wounded came pouring in. Soon, even his room was crammed full and he pulled the privacy curtains around them to keep all the wandering eyes to themselves. He could still make out their whispers as they smelled the foreign scent, questioning who was with him, but none dared to ask. Was it an innocent rogue caught in the crossfire or one of them?

Having no definitive answers, and refusing to think about the possibility of his mate being the enemy, Sam tried to ignore them and instead focused his attention on his mate.

Tattoos covered his mate’s flesh and he studied the ones he could see with curious eyes. Black ink twisted and curled in intricate designs over his arms from his shoulders down to his wrists. Sam was tempted to trace the designs with his fingertips but held himself back as he bit his lip with heat flushing his cheeks.

Despite his exhaustion, Sam couldn’t sleep a wink. Even after the battle ended, the enemy defeated, and all the wounded had been tended to, their groans of pain dying down to soft whimpers and snores, he couldn’t turn his mind off. Like a broken record, his thoughts and memories of the day kept circling around, repeating over and over without any answers. He hoped and prayed that his mate would wake up soon but at the same time, he was scared.

What if he woke up and refused to accept him?

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