Page 35 of Outback Mate
“You’re a patient in my clinic. I told you I couldn’t be your mate. I can’t. I’m not capable of being what you need. Even without my aura sickness, I can’t be the Alpha you deserve.”
His voice is huskier as he suppresses emotions he refuses to show.
“But you’re my mate. You can’t deny we’re scent matched. Besides, it’s done. You bit me,” I shout, pointing an accusatory finger at him, angry at his denial.
He should be overcome by the instinctual need to comfort me, care for me, be with me.
My head gives an almighty throb that steals my breath, and I almost topple off the bed.
The adrenaline from our coupling wears off, and a piercing headache returns with a vengeance. My throat feels hoarse, likeI’ve been screaming into a canyon, and my vision blurs as I stare at his shadow.
I blink to clear it, but nothing helps.
I wish he would step closer. Let me touch him so we can work through his fears. If he’d only see I’m on his side. We’re a team, not enemies.
“You’re still concussed. You need to lay back down.” He clicks his tongue and begins fussing with the IV drip. Somehow, it stayed in place through our passionate love-making. I realise it’s why he held my hands above my head, out of the fray.
If he had the forethought to protect the catheter in my hand, it’s proof he wasn’t totally out of his mind with the need to mate – the doctor was still in there. He could’ve stopped himself from biting me.
His rejection stings.
Is he incapable of loving me?
I don’t believe it for a second. In the short time I’ve known him, I’ve caught glimpses of the man beneath the armour, and he can’t convince me otherwise.
Besides, I broke through his walls once already.
I’ll do it again like a Mack Truck through a brick wall.
I dare him to challenge me not to.
Chapter Eleven
Doc
Iflinch as a shrill ring slices through the tension, echoing from the waiting room.
Poppy’s gaze follows me as I sweep from the room, mindlessly hunting the satellite phone designed to work even in bad weather.
I’m relieved by the distraction of work.
Holding the phone tightly in my fist, I lean over the reception desk, bracing on my forearms with my head hung low as I control my racing thoughts.
I inhale deeply and press the green button to answer.
“This is the emergency line for The Bodella Surgery. You’re speaking with Doctor Luke Nichols.”
“Doc, it’s Ben. June’s… She’s in labour.”
I frown. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah. Look, I know this afternoon was a false start, but this is the main event, mate,” the gruff Alpha pants down the line, static only enhancing his frantic tone.
“Did you check–”
“I thought there was a bloody leak in the roof cause I slipped in a puddle in the kitchen, but it wasn’t the roof, Doc. Her water broke.”
Damn. I haven’t delivered many babies since returning to Bodella. Our community isn’t heaving with child-bearing aged women, but I know the little rascals like to make an entrance. This bub is no exception. They’re about to be born in the Storm of the Century.
