Marked By The Mad King Alpha (Phoebe and Perry) novel Chapter 37

Timothy stepped back into the familiar confines of the castle after his time with the Obsidian Claw Pack, and the weight of the world seemed to rest heavily on his shoulders. He placed his report on the table, the parchment crinkling under the pressure of his grip, and let out a long, weary breath. “I’ve confirmed what the pack claims,” he spoke softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “They say Phoebe ended a pregnancy—supposedly because she didn’t know who the father was.”

Flynn’s head jerked up at the revelation, his expression transforming into one of evident satisfaction. “There,” he exclaimed, his tone dripping with triumph. “Proof she’s unfit to sit beside you. No wolf, no loyalty, no honor.” His words hung in the air like a dark cloud, the tension palpable.

Among shifters, the sanctity of children was revered, and even the mere mention of a lost pregnancy cast a long shadow over the room. “Rejected by her mate, stripped of her wolf, and now branded a killer of her own child,” Flynn continued, his voice growing more intense. “She’ll bring nothing but ruin to this kingdom if you allow her to remain here.”

Crossing his arms defensively, Timothy shot Flynn a steely glare. “You sound just like the pack elders. Do you genuinely believe their gossip?” His skepticism was evident, yet beneath it lay a flicker of doubt.

Flynn met his gaze, unyielding. “Whether you believe it or not is irrelevant. The danger she poses is what truly matters. Send her back before she destroys what’s left of you.” The urgency in his voice was unmistakable.

“You speak of her as if she’s merely an object,” I interjected, my voice calm yet laced with an underlying tension.

Flynn didn’t waver under my scrutiny. “She’s unstable. Even her father said so.” His conviction was unwavering.

A bitter laugh erupted from my chest, surprising even me. “So am I.” I tapped a finger against my temple and then my heart. “Sick here. And here. Perhaps that’s why she’s mine.”

Silence enveloped the room, a heavy understanding passing between us. Mad King or not, I was resolute; I wouldn’t let her go.

Later, I found her in the bathroom once more, her complexion as pale as freshly fallen snow, her body convulsing as she retched violently. She had lost even more weight since her arrival, and the sight of her frail form twisted my heart.

“Get up,” I urged, but instinctively steadied her with one hand when her knees buckled beneath her. “What are you trying to do to yourself?”

She looked up at me, her eyes hollow and searching, as if seeking a reason to continue fighting for her life.

“Why haven’t you eaten?” I demanded, gesturing towards the untouched tray on the table. “Are you trying to die?”

Her lips trembled, and instead of shrinking away, she met my gaze with fierce determination. “Yes,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “Kill me. I’m done.”

For a brief moment, I thought I had misheard her. But then she repeated it, her tone calm and resolute. “Kill me and end this.”

A surge of anguish twisted within me. I had taken more lives than I could count, yet I had never faced someone pleading for release. Her desperate words pulled me into an abyss I wasn’t prepared to navigate.

“Stop it,” I implored, reaching for her wrist, desperate to pull her back from the edge.

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