Marked By The Mad King Alpha (Phoebe and Perry) novel Chapter 13

The king’s words hit me harder than any physical blow ever could. His voice, thick with rage, cut through the fragile remnants of my strength, each syllable a sharp blade slicing into my very soul. My throat tightened painfully; no sound emerged. Whenever panic overwhelmed me, my voice simply disappeared, swallowed by the silence that had become my shield—a shield that had kept me alive all this time. Yet, to him, that silence looked like guilt.

His eyes darkened, storm clouds gathering in their depths. I could feel the crushing weight of his fury pressing down on me, making it hard to breathe.

“Out,” he growled, his voice low and menacing.

For a moment, I was frozen in place, trapped by fear. Then, instinct took over, propelling me forward. I stumbled off the bed, my legs trembling as I crossed the room in a desperate rush. I yanked the door open and fled, not daring to glance back as his roar thundered behind me—furniture splintering, glass shattering, his rage exploding like a violent storm.

The hallway blurred as I ran, my heart pounding so loudly I feared it would burst. The Mad King’s fury was something I had only heard about in hushed warnings, whispered in fear. But now, I had seen it with my own eyes. Felt it crushing down on me. And I knew, with absolute certainty, that if I had stayed, that fury would have destroyed me.

He was meant to be my second chance mate, a blessing from the Moon Goddess herself. Instead, he had become something far more terrifying than the first.

When I finally reached my quarters, I collapsed against the door, trembling uncontrollably. The king’s mark on my neck throbbed in time with my racing heartbeat, each pulse a painful reminder of everything I had lost—freedom, safety, peace.

“Aria,” I murmured weakly, my voice barely above a whisper as I stared up at the ceiling, as if the goddess might hear me. “What sin have I committed to deserve this?”

But silence was all I received in return.

Wrapping my arms tightly around myself, I slid down to the floor. Tears fell quietly, one after another, until the knocking began.

A knock I knew only too well.

Before I could react, the door creaked open. Kevin stepped inside, a cruel smile curling at the corners of his lips—the same smug expression I had come to despise.

“Look at you,” he said softly, almost mockingly fond. “Crying again.”

I glared at him through blurred vision, refusing to speak. His amusement only deepened.

“Come here,” he ordered, stepping closer. “Be good for me.”

My body froze. There was no lock on the door—he had removed it months ago. The last time I tried to keep him out, he had ripped the door off its hinges.

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