Marked By The Mad King Alpha (Phoebe and Perry) novel Chapter 28

“I had no idea her tolerance for spice was that low!” Timothy groaned loudly, just as my boot struck him squarely on the backside. He stumbled forward awkwardly, his hands scrambling to catch him before his face could meet the cold marble floor with a harsh thud.

Across the room, Flynn remained completely unfazed. The royal beta sat calmly at his desk, flipping through a thick stack of reports as if my outburst was nothing more than a faint background noise. The moonlight filtered through the tall windows, casting a silvery glow over the papers spread before him, giving the scene an eerie, quiet intensity.

“How was I supposed to know?” Timothy grumbled, still rubbing his sore rear as he glared up at me with a mix of frustration and disbelief. “You told me to test her limits—not to poison her!”

He wasn’t entirely wrong. I hadn’t warned him about her delicate condition. How could I? I barely knew anything about her, aside from the rumors swirling around, the mysterious mark on her neck, and the way she avoided meeting my eyes—as if my gaze alone could burn her alive.

I clenched my jaw tightly, forcing my rising anger back down, and shifted my attention to Flynn. “Any progress?”

Without looking up, Flynn replied coolly, “You only asked me this morning. Try practicing some patience for once.”

A muscle twitched in my temple. “Patience isn’t really my strong suit.”

Before Flynn could respond, Timothy finally gathered the courage to speak again. “What exactly are you two working on?”

Perfect timing. Flynn’s eyes lifted, sharp and cold. “Since you’re suddenly free, why don’t you lend a hand?”

Timothy raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Free? I’m still managing half the Valerium front, in case you forgot.”

“Then multitask,” Flynn said dismissively. “The king wants detailed intel on the girl. I’ve gathered the basics, but he demands more.”

Timothy turned toward me, clearly intrigued. “What have you found so far?”

Flynn sighed heavily and slid a few folders across the desk. I skimmed the top page—reports from the Obsidian Claw pack, filled with the same recycled gossip that had been circulating through the courts for weeks.

Frowning, Timothy flipped through the papers. “How many sources?”

“Three. Maybe four,” Flynn answered flatly. “All of them match.”

Timothy’s disbelief was immediate. “And that didn’t strike you as suspicious?”

Flynn’s eyes hardened. “They lived with her. I verified everything. What else was I supposed to do?”

“If everyone’s telling the exact same story, that’s precisely when you should start doubting it,” Timothy shot back sharply. “Echoes usually mean someone’s controlling the noise.”

Flynn scowled. “You think you can do better? Go ahead. I’m not wasting any more time on that wh—”

He didn’t finish. His knees hit the floor before the word fully escaped his lips.

A low, humming tension filled the air—the unmistakable sound of my control snapping. The pack bond between us tightened, invisible yet merciless. Flynn gasped, clutching his head as the psychic pressure bore down on him. Even Timothy, untouched by the punishment, pressed himself against the nearest wall, trying to escape the crushing weight.

In just two strides, I was standing over Flynn. I grabbed him by the throat, lifting his chin until his terrified eyes locked with mine.

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