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Awakening The Alpha: The Surgeon's Secret Mate

Perswaysion

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Werewolf

20 Chapters

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Ila Hardin, I was supposed to marry Blaise Greer, the healthy and powerful son of the Stonefang Pack's Alpha. But on my wedding day, my cousin Asha Hardin handed me a cup of sweet herbal tea. When I woke up, my limbs felt like lead, and I was locked in a dark, dusty storeroom. Outside the heavy door, I heard the maids excitedly whispering. "Miss Asha did it. She's mated to Master Blaise now! Now she won't have to marry that living corpse, Amos." She hadn't just stolen my place at the altar, she had condemned me to be the placeholder mate for the comatose, dying Alpha Amos Greer. I remembered her muttering about a "second chance" from the Goddess. She was a reincarnator. She knew Amos was destined to die, so she used her knowledge of the future to steal the healthy brother. She thought I would just quietly accept my tragic fate and fade away in a dead man's wing.But she made one fatal miscalculation. The weak, submissive Omega she remembered was gone, replaced by the soul of a top trauma surgeon from the twenty-first century. I won't be anyone's sacrificial pawn. I'm going to cure my "doomed" husband, expose her treacherous crimes, and make her pay for everything she stole.

Awakening The Alpha: The Surgeon's Secret Mate Chapter 1

Ila POV:

A groan escaped my lips, the sound swallowed by the thick, dusty air.

My limbs were heavy, unresponsive.I forced my eyelids open. They felt gritty, weighted down.

This wasn't the bridal preparation room.A storeroom.

Fragments of memory surfaced. My cousin Asha Hardin, her smile a little too bright, pressing a cup of herbal tea into my hands. "To calm your nerves," she'd said.

The sweet scent of vanilla. The bitter aftertaste.Then I fainted

Footsteps shuffled outside the heavy wooden door, followed by hushed, excited whispers.

"Miss Asha did it. She's mated to Master Blaise now!" The voice belonged to Holly, one of her maids.

My blood went cold.

"That's wonderful!" another voice, her other maid Ivy, replied. "Now she won't have to marry that living corpse, Amos."

The pieces clicked into place with sickening clarity. The drugged tea.

Asha didn't want to marry the comatose Alpha Apparent, Amos Greer. She wanted to marry Emers' younger, healthier brother, Blaise Greer, my fiancé.

I was drugged, hidden away, while she walked down the aisle to the man who was meant to be my mate.

A wave of betrayal, so potent it made my stomach clench, washed over me. It wasn't for the loss of Blaise, a man I barely knew. It was the cold, calculated cruelty of it. My own cousin.

I closed my eyes, taking a deep, shuddering breath.

I, Dr. Ila Hardin, a trauma surgeon from twenty-first-century Earth, was trapped. Trapped in the body of a sacrificial character from a werewolf novel I'd once read.

Holly's voice filtered through the door again, this time laced with a sliver of fear. "But how is Miss Asha so sure Alpha Amos will die within the year? She kept saying it was her 'second chance,' a gift from the Goddess..."

Second chance.

The phrase hit me like a defibrillator shock to the chest. It connected instantly with a key plot point from the novel.

Rebirth.

The outlandish thought snapped everything into a terrifying new focus. A reborn soul? It sounded like madness, but it would explain everything. If Asha had lived this life before, she knew Amos was going to die. She knew Blaise would become the acting Alpha. This wasn't a gamble for her; it was a calculated move based on foreknowledge. The possibility was chilling: she was playing with a stacked deck, using her knowledge of the "future" to secure her position.

And I was the collateral damage.

The anger receded, replaced by a chillingly clear assessment of my situation. I was an Omega from a minor pack, the Whispering Pines. I had been publicly jilted at my own wedding ceremony, and now I was about to be forced upon a dying Alpha as a placeholder Luna. Under the persecution of Asha and Blaise, Amos and I died together because we could not resist.

"No. I would not let that happen." The survival instinct that had carried me through countless 18-hour shifts in the ER surged through me, hot and fierce.

I pushed myself up, my body screaming in protest. The room spun, but my gaze was sharp, scanning the dim space for anything I could use. Anything to fight back.

My eyes landed on a tarnished metal candlestick, propped against the wall near the door. One of its arms was bent, and it looked loose.

An idea formed, sharp and dangerous.

Asha and Blaise were celebrating their victory right now. They were at their most triumphant, and also their most vulnerable. The last thing they wanted was a scandal.

I crawled across the dusty floor, my borrowed wedding dress snagging on the rough wood. My muscles trembled with the effort, but my resolve was iron. I reached the candlestick, my fingers closing around the cold, heavy metal. It was heavier than I expected. Good.

I pressed my ear against the door, listening. The distant music and laughter seemed to swell, then pause, as if for a speech or a toast.

This was it.

With a guttural cry that ripped from my throat, I swung the candlestick with every ounce of strength I possessed. I aimed for the center of the door, putting my entire body weight behind the blow.

CRACK!

The sound was explosive in the relative quiet of the hallway. It echoed, sharp and violent, a stark contrast to the celebration happening elsewhere in the manor.

Outside the door, Holly and Ivy shrieked in terror.

The distant music stopped abruptly. A man's voice shouted, "What was that?"

My work done, I let the candlestick clatter to the floor. All the fight drained out of me in an instant. I slumped against the door, carefully arranging my body to look weak, helpless. I mussed my hair, smudged the dirt on my cheek, and let my expression go slack with confusion and fear.

I was no longer the surgeon. I was the victim.

I closed my eyes, regulating my breathing, preparing for the storm I had just summoned.

The sound of a key scraping in the lock was followed by the heavy bolt being thrown. The door was yanked open from the outside, flooding the dark storeroom with the bright, painful light of the hallway.

Silhouetted against the light stood several figures. But the one in the front, his face a mask of shock and dawning horror, was Blaise Greer. My former fiancé.