Marked By The Mad King Alpha (Phoebe and Perry) novel Chapter 24

There are two sacred rites every shifter awaits with bated breath. The first is the shift itself—the moment when the wolf within finally finds you, stirring that fierce, separate spirit to life. The second is the mate mark: the binding that seals a soul meant to stand unwaveringly by your side for all your days.

In the old stories, both were gifts from the Moon Goddess—pure, holy, and whole. But in my own life, those moments had been twisted beyond recognition.

My first sacred moment never truly came. I had yet to shift when everything fell apart; the rejection I endured shattered something delicate deep inside me. When the soul is still forming, wounds like that burrow far beneath the surface. For some, it leaves a scar. For me, it was a loss so profound that my wolf spirit vanished. I could walk the world of humans, but all that defined me as a shifter—my healing, my scent, the guidance of the wolf—felt hollow, as if drained of meaning.

And yet, despite that void, the Moon Goddess had granted me a second chance at a mate: Perry, the king.

“He turned you away, and yet you still cling to him,” Perry said softly, watching the flicker of panic darken my eyes.

“I don’t want him,” I whispered, my voice barely steady, the words catching painfully in my throat. Saying it felt like bargaining with myself; the lie tasted bitter and raw on my tongue.

“Liar.” His voice sliced through the silence—half accusation, half disbelief.

He saw the fear etched in my expression, and though his tone was sharp, he also recognized that I wasn’t pretending. I wasn’t chasing after Kevin. I wasn’t eager for this. The look I gave him spoke volumes, and for a fleeting moment, his harshness softened.

His hand reached up to my chin—not roughly this time, but with a gentle thumb tracing the faint scratch his nail had left earlier. The intimacy of the gesture made my muscles tense involuntarily. My first instinct was to push him away. But then, a second, more dangerous thought stirred within me—an instinct I didn’t trust.

He lifted my face toward his and kissed me.

It wasn’t the fierce, brutal kiss I had come to dread. Instead, it was steady, cool at the edges, with the faint burn of whiskey on his breath. For a brief second, I surprised myself by responding—awkwardly, fearfully—before my body betrayed me. When his hand moved toward my throat, panic surged like a rising tide through my bones, freezing me in place.

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