Marked By The Mad King Alpha (Phoebe and Perry) novel Chapter 112

Chapter 112: A Desperate Kind of Love

Perry’s Perspective

“Strike me. Yell at me. Do whatever you need to unleash your rage. Just don’t leave me drowning in this silence.” I cup Phoebe’s face gently, searching her eyes for any flicker of emotion, any sign that she’s still there. But all I find is a hollow void. “Come back to me.”

A tidal wave of feelings crashes through me as our mate bond stretches to its absolute limit. The ache is unbearable—far worse than any physical pain I’ve ever known. It’s like a tightening noose choking off my very breath.

“Please, you need to eat.” I press a soft kiss to her forehead before picking up the untouched meal. Sitting beside her, I wait, hoping she’ll take a bite. When she doesn’t, I lift the spoon to her lips myself.

She’s become a shadow of who she once was. The crushing realization that I’ve lost her completely hits me like a punch to the gut.

Phoebe has slipped beyond my grasp.

“Say anything. Please.” I coax the food toward her mouth, but her lips remain firmly sealed.

She’d rather waste away than truly live—since ending her own life isn’t an option.

No response. Only silence.

“Just one word.” I set the plate aside and carefully wipe the crumbs from her mouth. She’s barely touched a thing. “You have to eat.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, fighting the frustration building inside me. Patience has never been my strong suit, but for Phoebe, I’ll endure anything.

“Please, Phoebe.” Then, in a moment of desperation, I do something bold. I take a piece of meat into my own mouth, chew it slowly, and then press my lips to hers to transfer it. I force her to swallow.

Her eyes snap open in shock—the first genuine reaction I’ve seen from her in days. It makes me want to do it again. At least she’s responding instead of staring right through me.

“If you won’t eat on your own, this is how it’s going to be.”

She finally presses her lips together and meets my gaze.

“Don’t you dare shut me out.” The words slip out harsher than I intended. I don’t want to be rough with her. “You need food. I won’t stand by and watch you destroy yourself.”

I repeat the process, ignoring her weak struggles as I hold her wrists pinned above her head with one hand and steady her chin with the other.

She writhes beneath me, accidentally kicking the plate off the table. It shatters on the floor, scattering food everywhere.

At least she swallowed the meat. Now I’ll need another plate.

Since I can’t leave her alone, I send a mindlink to a warrior nearby, asking for more food to be brought quickly.

“That’s it—be furious with me. Hit me. Hate me. I can take it all.” I stroke her cheek, and she sinks her teeth into my hand.

She doesn’t hold back, but I only grimace slightly—it’s barely a bother.

Instead, I run my fingers through her tangled hair. “Perfect. Let it all out.” I smile as if she’s done something worthy of praise.

No answer.

I remind myself: patience. That’s all I need.

—

Flynn’s thoughts spiraled uncontrollably after the secret meeting. His mind refused to find peace.

“I should never have entertained the idea,” he muttered, running his hands through his hair in frustration. The conversation with Reginald replayed endlessly in his head, pushing him toward the edge of madness.

Reginald had slipped away under cover of darkness, requesting the clandestine rendezvous just days before the civil war was set to erupt.

*I want her.*

Those three words echoed relentlessly in Flynn’s mind. Reginald wanted Phoebe.

Living within the palace walls had given Reginald ample time to observe the political landscape. As a spy, quick judgment was essential for survival.

He’d figured out that Flynn saw Phoebe as nothing more than dead weight—a liability he was eager to discard. So Reginald had offered to remove that burden.

*Hand her over since she’s useless to you. We both win. This arrangement won’t interfere with our war.*