Marked By The Mad King Alpha (Phoebe and Perry) novel Chapter 65

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I splashed cold water on my face again and again, trying to wash away the heat, the confusion—everything that had just happened.

The bathroom door was locked. I couldn’t risk Perry walking in.

I couldn’t wrap my head around what I’d done. The high of it, the pleasure that had burned through me, had already faded—leaving behind a dizzying cocktail of shame and disbelief.

I’d enjoyed it.

That was what horrified me most.

When I’d been on top—controlling the rhythm, watching him lose himself beneath me—I’d felt powerful. Desired. And for the first time in a long while, safe.

I’d taken control, and I’d craved it.

I turned the faucet again, letting the icy water sting my skin. How had I gone from flinching at touch to wanting it? From fearing closeness to seeking it?

I was losing my mind.

Trying to silence the noise in my head, I opened the drawer beneath the sink and pulled out the vial of poison. I stared at it for a long, long time.

Twisted as it was, this poison was the only thing that tasted real to me. Everything else—food, drink, even kisses—was flavorless. But this? This burned. This reminded me I was still alive.

Maybe that was why I’d chosen this method. Or maybe… maybe I didn’t really care to survive either.

A bitter smile touched my lips. If I was going to die, it might as well be with the man I hated most.

I uncapped the vial and let a few drops fall onto my tongue. The familiar burn spread down my throat. Not enough to kill me—but enough to make sure it stayed in my system.

Then I put the vial away and walked back to the bedroom.

Perry was still asleep, sprawled across the bed, unaware.

We were both naked. His chest rose and fell steadily, the picture of peace—and that made me hate him a little more.

I climbed onto the bed and straddled him. Cupping his face, I kissed him. Deeply. Slowly. Transferring the poison from my mouth to his.

Even unconscious, his body responded—his lips parting, his hand finding the back of my head.

For a second, guilt clawed at me. Then I remembered what he’d done—the blood on his hands, the lives he’d destroyed—and it faded.

I let him take what he wanted until sleep reclaimed him.

When I woke again, sunlight filtered through the curtains. Noon. Perry was still out cold.

But his peace had shattered.

Sweat soaked his forehead. His jaw clenched and unclenched, his body twitching as if fighting unseen demons.

“No… don’t hurt her… Cordelia, I’m sorry… no, not her…”

Cordelia.

That name again.

He’d murmured it before, during another nightmare. I didn’t know who she was—but he said her name with fear and grief tangled together.

I watched him silently, remembering the last time I’d tried to wake him. The moment his hands closed around my throat, his face twisted in madness.

The scar still throbbed faintly under my skin—a thin white line across my neck.

This time, I kept my distance.

Cordelia… please… don’t hurt her…

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