The Defiant Claim - The Claim: Book 2 [LGBTQ+]

Day by day, Dr. Waaban came to dress his wounds and check up on Sam. The nurses flitted in and out. The heart monitor reached a steady and normal pace and the ventilator was replaced with a simple oxygen tube.

Cameron came to visit Sam for hours every day but didn’t disturb Mik. He slept through most of Cameron’s visits, anyhow. Mik thought he got a whiff of Noodin once or twice as well, but refused to open his eyes and acknowledge him.

The old hag—Eloise—was curt but polite with Mik and he returned the same level of courtesy to her when she came to check on Sam.

Every day, Sam grew a bit better, a bit stronger. No one knew when he’d wake up but the doctor and nurses all murmured amongst themselves that he’d wake up when he was ready to.

A week went by. Then a second. Mik’s fever left completely and his lacerations started scabbing over and healing. Dr. Waaban still insisted that he not move and remain in bed until he was sure they would not reopen. Eloise was instructed to massage his aching body and give him sponge baths. Neither she nor Mik were happy with this arrangement at first, but they tolerated each other. Mik couldn’t lie that the massages worked wonders and he appreciated washing away the dirt, grime, and sweat that had collected.

Eloise was company that was far nicer than the voice in Mik’s head. Mik started asking her about herself, her life, her family, her youth—anything to take his mind off the voice in his head and the dread he felt inside for the moment Sam would wake up and face him. Eloise was skeptical at first, but every day she came back, he asked her about her family, what she liked to do in her free time, what meals she would be having later, what spices and herbs she put into those meals. Digging deeper into little things that he otherwise would have found meaningless.

She must have woken up on the wrong side of the bed one day as she snarled at him. “Stop prying into my life.”

He took no offense but apologized nonetheless. “I’m bored and you’re life, however dull you might think it is, is more interesting than what I got going on right now. I’ll stop prying. Can we talk about food instead?”

She snorted. “Of all things to talk about, you want to talk about food?”

“Why not? We all need to eat and I assume I’ll be looking after Sam once I’m well enough to do so.”

“Confident, aren’t we?”

“He’s alive and getting better every day...”

“Yeah, I don’t know how much he’ll want you after all this. Alpha might put you back in prison. What do ya think about that?”

Mik closed his eyes and heaved a sigh. “I deserve it.”

She humphed and got to work massaging his legs. After a few minutes of silence she said, “So, you want to cook for him, huh?”

“Yes. I did while he was cramming for his Friday exams. He said I was good but... there’s a difference between good and great when you compare it to the charcoal he makes.”

Eloise chuckled. “Sam burns everything, huh?”

“Terribly.”

There was a short, sharp exhale through her nose, like a half snort. “I always thought he’d be the one preparing meals for the two of you.”

“That makes two of us.”

“So what have you tried making for him? And tell me all the details like spices and herbs you used.”

While she continued her massage, he described in detail the various dishes he made for Sam. The spices they had tried and the texture and flavor of the meat to the best of his ability. By the end of it, he could smell her drooling and wiping the saliva from her mouth as she pulled away, her job completed.

“That sounds really good and now I’m starving. Thanks, pup.”

“Hey, don’t call me pup,” he grumbled as her footsteps on the linoleum floor walked away and out the door.

Heaving a sigh, he turned his attention to Sam. He could see him now with the ventilator no longer blocking his line of vision. His neck was in a brace. His shaved head had black stubble growing. His closed eyes had a sunken appearance. His lips didn’t hold the color they once did. They were duller, thinner. Lifeless...

“Sam?” he whispered. “Can you hear me, Sam?”

No noticeable change occurred. No muscle twitch. No jump in his heartbeat. Nothing.

“Did you really talk to me when I was unconscious? What did you say?”

He suddenly wanted to know. What had those moments been like when he was unconscious? Was Sam as anxiety-riddled as he had been when Mik awoke? What thoughts passed through his mind? Which of those thoughts formed words out of his mouth?

He squeezed his eyes shut as he remembered his reactions upon waking up. Knowing what he did now and how hard Sam had tried to take care of him, shame pressed down on Mik’s body. Shame wrapped itself around his chest and constricted.

“I’m sorry, Sam.”

“Sorry won’t cut it.”

Cameron stepped into the room. Disgust followed him, turning the air sour. Bile crept up Mik’s throat. He was right.

‘What difference does it make?’ his father’s voice cut in. ‘It would have never worked out in the first place. He’s not the right sex.’

Mik grit his teeth. “Fuck off.”

“What are you going to do about it? I have every right to be here. He’s my friend.”

“You knew he was suicidal and you still told him and didn’t stop him. Yeah, what I did was horrible and I regret it, but none of you tried to stop him. None of you approached me first to tell me you knew what I was doing and that I should stop or else you’d tell him. You led him like a lamb to the slaughter. And yeah, it’s my fault. I fucked up. But you all played a part too. Don’t fucking forget that.”

Cameron snarled and Mik heard him lunge toward him but nothing happened. His hot breath panted against Mik’s back. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, feeling him near and bristling to the threat. Mik clenched his fists at his side and held his breath.

A few seconds passed and Cameron’s growling turned to a whimper as the heat of his body pulled away.

“Fuck!” Cameron yelled.

“Yeah, we all fucked up—and you know it,” Mik grunted, deflating and unfurling his fist. “That’s why you come here every day. That’s why I smell you crying. You stink of guilt.”

“I just...” Cameron groaned. “I keep seeing him in my mind... jumping... and I couldn’t stop him...”

Cameron’s voice cracked as a lump formed in Mik’s throat. He understood all too well what Cameron was feeling. That sinking, aching feeling gripped him every time that mental picture flashed in his mind. One moment he was there, the next gone. And there was nothing he could do to stop him.

“I didn’t think he’d run there... I thought he’d run home... I thought the worst-case scenario would be I’d meet him there and pull the knife from his hands like I did last time...”

“Fuck,” Mik murmured, closing his eyes, unable to forget the mental image that conjured up. “When was that?”

“You should know... You’re his mate.”

“Dammit, I didn’t ask! He never mentioned it before, so how could I have known!”

“You guys had been living together for two months—you should know something!”

Mik growled at his snippy attitude. He was annoyed by the fact that someone always had something to rub in his face. He should have known this about Sam. He should have known that. He wasn’t a mind-reader. They hadn’t sealed the matebond. Mik had no way of looking into Sam’s mind and knowing what secrets he was keeping. Hell, there was a lot about himself that he never disclosed to Sam and had no intention of telling him. He already knew about Jez and Mara—and he never intended on telling him that, but he did.

“All I know is that he lived with you and the Alpha and Luna for a bit after leaving his shitty family’s house.” The puzzle pieces started to click together as the words tumbled out of his mouth. “Wait... Was that when he found out he was adopted?”

“Bingo. See? You’re not completely incompetent. You just failed to dig deeper.”

Heaving a groan, Mik turned his head away to look at the wall. He’d had enough of this male’s constant insults. If he ignored him, he would eventually get the idea that Mik was done with him.

He heard Cameron take his seat on the other side of Sam’s bed and Mik got his wish—Cameron didn’t utter another word to him.