Marked By The Mad King Alpha (Phoebe and Perry) novel Chapter 14

The atmosphere was suffocating, charged with a tension so thick it felt almost tangible—like a storm about to break. Kevin’s presence loomed over me, his jealousy radiating with every breath he took, a silent but fierce storm brewing in his eyes. The mark branded on my neck—the king’s mark—had ignited a fire in him, a rage so intense it seemed to make the very walls of the room close in, hostile and unforgiving.

He wanted to tear me apart because of it. That much was clear. The fury simmering beneath his skin was evident in every twitch of his jaw, every clenched fist. His entire being screamed with barely contained anger.

My body tensed, bracing for the blow I expected any second. But it never came. Instead, Kevin’s hand shot out, gripping my wrist with a force that left no room for escape. He pulled me close, so near I could see the twisted hatred etched across his face. His voice, low and venomous, sliced through the thick silence, each word dripping with accusation and contempt.

I tried to resist, to push back against him, but my strength was gone—drained by the pain of the mark, the gnawing hunger, and the overwhelming exhaustion that clung to me like a shadow. Fighting him felt like battling the relentless tide with shattered bones.

Caught between the struggle and his unyielding grip, my mind slipped away once more. I retreated inward, detaching from the cruel reality unfolding before me as his cruelty reached its peak. I couldn’t stop him—I could only endure.

When the chaos finally faded into silence, I lay still, staring blankly at the ceiling above. My breath came in shallow, uneven gasps as I struggled to remember how to simply breathe. My vision blurred, thoughts scattering like broken glass.

Above me, Kevin’s shadow lingered, his presence looming even as his voice softened to an unsettling whisper—a stark contrast to the violence moments before.

“You’ll never belong to anyone but me,” he murmured, satisfaction dripping from his words. “Not even him.”

Then the door clicked shut behind him, and I was left alone once again.

The mark on my neck burned fiercely, as if it had a heartbeat of its own—a constant reminder of who owned me, and who I truly feared.

***

The room was a wreck, chaos frozen in time. Shards of glass caught the flickering firelight, casting fractured reflections across splintered furniture and torn fabric. Flynn stood silently in the doorway, his usual weary expression deepening as he took in the destruction left in the wake of my fury.

“Just blowing off some steam,” I said, raising the bottle to my lips. The wine tasted bitter, like ash lingering on my tongue.

“You’re losing control,” Flynn muttered, his voice low but heavy with concern.

I let out a quiet, almost bitter laugh. “Control is overrated anyway.”

He didn’t argue—he never did. His silence spoke volumes, a silent judgment that weighed heavier than any words.

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