The Bewitching Doctors second chance romance

The Bewitching Doctors second chance romance

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alpha
dark
family
HE
fated
second chance
shifter
powerful
single mother
drama
bxg
serious
werewolves
mythology
office/work place
pack
small town
magical world
another world
rejected
love at the first sight
addiction
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Blurb

In a realm where myth and magic reign, Dr. Seryna Vale has built a new life of control, success, and hard won peace. A brilliant she-wolf healer with a painful past, Seryna long ago stopped believing in fairy tales and fated love. Abandoned by her father, rejected by her mother, and humiliated by the mate fate once promised her, she swore never to trust in love again.

But when a summons from home drags her back to the village that broke her, everything changes.

It begins with a scent—intoxicating, magnetic, unmistakable. Her wolf stirs. Her pulse races. Mate.

But this isn’t the cruel boy who once mocked her—it’s someone else. A stranger cloaked in secrets. A man whose gaze burns too long, whose voice lingers too deep, and whose touch—if she dares to let him—might shatter the armor she’s built.

As ancient forces awaken and buried truths rise, Seryna is drawn into a web of mystery, magic, and longing. The bond calls to her. The man tempts her. And fate… may have finally come to collect.

Some mates are written in the stars.

Others are forged in fire.

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Seryna Vale
The day before the moon was meant to bless me, Ezekial Thorne reminded me what it felt like to bleed. Coral Hollow was too quiet the day before a wolf came of age. Not out of reverence—just anticipation. Judgment. The kind that sat heavy in the air like the breath before a storm. My footsteps echoed down the cobbled path, too loud in the silence, as I clutched a wicker basket brimming with garlic and fresh-cut ginger. They were for Maria, the village healer. My mentor. My anchor in a world that often forgot I existed. I’d been apprenticing with her since I was small. I still remember the day it all began—how I’d been left behind at school as night fell, my stomach aching from hunger and fear. Maria had found me, a stranger back then, her eyes tired but kind. She took my hand, gave me a warm meal in the clinic, and walked me home. From that moment on, her door had always been open to me. I came back the next day, and the one after, and never really left. Maria once told me I had healer’s hands. I wanted to believe her. Someday, I’d earn enough to become a real doctor. I had the skill—just not the coin. Still, it gave me something to fight for. Something to hope toward. And starting tomorrow… everything might change. Hopefully for the better. Mist clung low around the trees that edged Coral Hollow, curling like secrets around their roots. The sky above was swollen with unfallen rain, casting everything in a dull silver gloom. The village looked like it had been plucked from a storybook—sloped roofs with carved runes over every doorway, whitewashed walls bright against the gray sky—but I’d long since stopped believing in fairy tales. Not since my father left ten years ago. A breeze carried the scent of damp moss, chimney smoke, and something sharper—iron tang from the butcher’s stall. As I passed the apothecary, bundles of herbs hung upside-down in the window like shriveled skeletons. In the distance, the clang of wooden training swords echoed from the field. It was nearly dusk, but the world refused to rest. The village didn’t speak to me, not directly. But it whispered. Always whispered. “Tomorrow’s her day, poor thing.” “Can you imagine her with someone important?” “No wonder her father left her. She’s so pathetic.” “Bet the bond won’t even form.” "Five bucks her mate rejects her on the spot." Each word stung like sleet. I kept my head down, back straight, eyes fixed on the road. My fingers gripped the wicker basket tighter until the rough weave pressed into my skin—until I heard a faint c***k where the wood splintered under my grasp. I passed the fountain in the square, and that’s when I saw it: a man hoisting his laughing daughter onto his shoulders. Her arms flew wide like wings. The sound of her joy twisted in my chest. I used to laugh like that—before everything turned quiet. But I didn’t let myself linger. One more day. Just one. Then the moon would rise, and so would my wolf. My mate would appear. I would finally belong—if not to this village, then at least to someone who chose me. I was halfway through the square when he stepped into my path. Ezekial Thorne. The Beta’s son. Tall, broad-shouldered, with that same smirk he wore like armor. His ice-blue eyes scanned me like I was prey, and authority clung to him like smoke. “Well, well,” he drawled. “If it isn’t Seryna.” He took an exaggerated whiff of the air and crinkled his nose. “You smell extra foul today—ever heard of soap?” I kept walking. He blocked me again, one boot shifting into my path. “What, no snarl? Saving it for your big day?” I didn’t answer. My hands tightened around the broken wicker. The cracked edge bit into my palm. “They’re saying it might be me, you know,” he said, stepping closer. “Fate’s cruel joke. You—tied to me.” A shiver crawled down my spine. I couldn’t imagine anything worse. Then, with one casual swing of his arm, he knocked the basket from my hands. Garlic and ginger scattered across the cobbles like spilled bones. I dropped to gather them, but before my fingers touched the ground, his boot slammed down on my hand. Pain shot up my arm, sharp and hot. I gasped, but didn’t cry out. Wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. That must’ve infuriated him. A beat later, he grabbed a fistful of my hair and yanked me upward until I met his gaze. “You’re nothing, Vale. Wolf or not.” Rage twisted in my chest. I shoved him off me and stood, biting back the sting in my palm and scalp. “Are you afraid?” He blinked, caught off guard. “Of what?” “You’ve spent years trying to break me... but now you’re scared. Scared I’ll be the one fate ties to your soul. And when that bond snaps into place—you’ll feel every scar you ever gave me.” For just a second, I saw it. A flicker. A doubt. Then he scoffed, shoved his hands into his pockets, and turned away. I knelt and gathered the rest of the herbs with shaking hands. The pain in my fingers pulsed, sharp and rhythmic. I applied pressure to the worst of the bleeding—something Maria had taught me long ago. As he disappeared down the street, I stood alone. Wind tangled my hair. I could feel the village watching. But I didn’t look up. Let them watch. I walked home in silence. The path wound past shuttered windows and smoke-thin lanterns. When I pushed open the creaking door of our cottage, the familiar scent hit me all at once—dry lavender, cold ash, and the sharp burn of whatever filled my mother’s cup. She didn’t look up as I entered. She never did. The fireplace was unlit. The room was dim and cold, and the only sound was the clink of ceramic as she sipped slowly, her eyes fixed on nothing. She didn’t ask about the missing herbs. Or my bleeding fingers. Or why I came home so late. She hadn’t asked about much in years. Not since my father left ten years ago. Not since something inside her broke. When she did speak, it was to ask for coin I didn’t have or to hurl insults that clung like bruises. Sometimes that was better—easier to endure—than the nights when silence gave way to fists. I hovered in the doorway a moment longer than I should’ve, hoping—foolishly, reflexively—that she might glance my way. That she might care. But she didn’t. So I crossed the room quietly and slipped into the shadows of my small, unlit bedroom. I no longer expected anything. It had been like this for too long. That night, I lay in bed with my arms crossed over my stomach, staring at the ceiling. The quiet hummed with things unsaid. We used to live in a better house—one with carved beams, sunlit windows, and warmth in every corner. Back then, my father was a warrior who smelled of pine and smoke, who laughed often and lifted me onto his shoulders like I was made of starlight. My mother sang lullabies that wrapped around me like silk. But one day, he stopped coming home. And then he never came back. He left us—for another woman in another town. Left my mother behind with nothing but silence and bills. We lost the house, our standing in the pack, everything. This cramped, crumbling cottage was all we could afford after he turned his back on us. And with every year that passed, my mother unraveled—thread by thread. Bitterness seeped into her bones. The lullabies stopped. The warmth died. Her voice, when it came, was sharp and slurred—asking for coin I didn’t have or hurling insults like they were all I deserved. Sometimes, the silence between those moments was worse. Sometimes, it wasn’t. Now the walls were just walls. And I, just a girl trying not to disappear between them. I closed my eyes and whispered into the dark: “Please. Let my mate be kind. Let my wolf be strong. Let me leave this place forever.” For a moment, everything was still. Then a sliver of moonlight slipped through the shutters and landed across my face like a blessing. I didn’t know if it meant anything—but I let myself believe that maybe, just maybe, someone heard me. The village clock tower struck midnight. Dong. Dong. Dong... Twelve slow, solemn chimes echoed through the dark. I held my breath. The final bell faded into silence. Then—something flickered beneath my skin. A shiver, a ripple, like a breath held too long. My limbs tensed. For a heartbeat, I thought I was imagining things. Then came the ache. Sharp. Sudden. Like something deep inside me had just stretched awake for the first time. I clutched the blanket tighter, pulse quickening. My ears strained in the silence. Nothing. And then—I heard it. A voice. Soft. Fierce. Not from outside, but from within. “Let them try to hurt us now.” It sounded like me. But older. Wilder. A whisper threaded with strength I didn’t recognize. I blinked up at the ceiling, unsure if I’d dreamed it. And yet… part of me stirred in answer.

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