Marked By The Mad King Alpha (Phoebe and Perry) novel Chapter 18

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Terror gripped my chest once again—a relentless shadow that had haunted me through every nightmare and every dark twist of my life. No matter how often it clawed at me, its sting never dulled. It was a constant, unwelcome companion I could never shake.

As the king neared the car, a sickening churn rose in my stomach, alive and twisting. Yet beneath that nausea, a more dangerous feeling simmered—an uneasy anticipation that scorched my skin with shame, as if betraying myself. I couldn’t stop my hand from drifting up to the mark on my neck. The moment my fingers grazed the delicate skin, I yanked them away and clutched my backpack tighter, forcing my gaze forward. Don’t speak. Don’t move. Don’t give him any reason.

This ride could mean freedom from the Obsidian Claw pack—or it might be a step into something far worse.

The door slid open, and Perry slipped in beside me. The atmosphere shifted instantly—heavy, charged, suffocating. Words were unnecessary; his presence filled the small space like a storm pressing down on my lungs, making each breath a struggle. I gripped my backpack as if it could shield me, willing myself to melt into the worn leather seat. The distance between us was barely a hand’s breadth, yet it felt like nothing separated us at all.

Then his scent reached me—dark, intoxicating, and utterly wrong. Deep inside, my wolf whimpered, recognizing something I dared not name. A part of me longed to lean closer, to breathe him in fully—and that thought terrified me more than any danger I had faced before.

The car pulled away from the pack house, and my heartbeat thundered loudly in the thick silence.

“Not happy?” His voice was smooth like silk but sharp as a blade.

He leaned in, his breath brushing my skin. Every fiber of my being screamed to stay frozen. I dropped my eyes—making eye contact was a challenge, and challenge meant death.

“Look at me when I speak to you.” His tone cut through the quiet like lightning.

I flinched as his hand brushed my cheek, my body reacting before my mind could catch up. “I—I am happy, my king,” I stammered, the words trembling on my lips.

He scoffed, clearly unconvinced. His palm pressed flat against my chest, right over the rapid beat of my heart. “I don’t think so,” he murmured.

My heart betrayed me, hammering fiercely beneath his touch. Sweat slicked my skin despite the cold air filling the car. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t move.