Sam's hands trembled as he stepped out of the room and closed the door behind him.
I didn't ask for this.
I didn't ask to be born defective.
Numbly, he shuffled past Eloise at the front desk as Dr. Waaban stepped up to her with a file in his hand.
"Sam," the pack doctor called, looking over his reading glasses at him, "how are you doing?"
Swallowing down the hurt, Sam shrugged, barely lifting his head.
"His mate is giving him a hard time," Eloise piped up. "He's giving everyone here a hard time with his outbursts."
Queasiness gripped him as he held his stomach and swayed from side to side.
"Sam?" Dr. Waaban glided swiftly around the desk and took him by the arm, guiding him to the closest empty bed and urging him to down next to him. "Deep breaths. In and out." He breathed in deeply and exhaled slowly with him as the nausea ebbed. "Are you eating? When was the last time you had an injection? We agreed to up your dose when you began training."
Sam curled his hands into fists in his lap, looking down at the tiled floor. A faint scent of bleach rose up from the shiny white surface and he tried not to gag on it. "Um, last week? Wednesday, I think."
Dr. Waaban nodded. "We agreed on every five days, didn't we? You're a day late. I'll call the kitchen and have someone bring over your dinner while I get your medicine. Wait here. I don't want you going anywhere until your nausea has passed."
Bending his neck in appreciation, Sam muttered a small, "Thank you," before the doctor rose and left.
Unconsciously, he rubbed his arm where he would receive the shot as he let his eyes roam around the infirmary. Most of the beds were occupied with unconscious packmates, unidentifiable with all the bandages wrapped around them. Bags of saline hung next to each bed with tubes and wires hooked up to various machines. All but two patients had a family member at their bedside, reading, knitting, or staring at their phones. Their eyes glanced across the room at him in curiosity.
His stomach churned as he turned away and curled into himself.
His mate put those wolves in those beds...
He whimpered. Bile crept up his throat.
What would become of his mate now? How could they live together? He understood that his mate was surprised and outraged to find that Sam wasn't female but he couldn't hate him forever for that, could he? They were soulmates. The Moon Goddess created them for each other.
If it wasn't for that stupid little y-chromosome, there would be no issue. Mikwam would have readily accepted him. He wouldn't have pushed him away. He wouldn't have raised his voice to the sky and sounded the battle cry that launched the attack against the pack.
All of those wolves' lives hanging on by a thread were his fault. If he had only been female, he could have stopped his mate. He could have stopped the attack. He could have prevented all of this from happening.
If only he had been female, his mate's life wouldn't be hanging in limbo at Alpha's command.
"Sam, relax." A firm, but gentle, hand gripped his shoulder.
He looked up to meet the pack doctor's concerned and empathetic eyes before lowering his own. He found his hands clenched tightly into the mattress, tuffs of cotton poking out from where his nails extended into claws and pierced through the thick material. His chest hurt. Bile lingered in the back of his throat and he couldn't swallow it down.
YOU ARE READING
The Defiant Claim (The Claim: Book 2) LGBT
Werewolf[COMPLETE] Revenge drove him. Bloodlust raged in his veins. All 22-year-old Mik (Mikwam) wanted was to reclaim his birthright and destroy the alpha that took it from him. He never expected to find his mate within the pack of his enemy -- nor was he...
