Marked By The Mad King Alpha (Phoebe and Perry) novel Chapter 118

Chapter 118: She Would Rather Die

Reginald’s first real glimpse of Phoebe did not occur the day he visited the beta’s home with his mother, preparing to become Phoebe’s stepbrother. In truth, their paths had crossed much earlier, though he hadn’t fully realized it at the time.

That memory remained vivid in his mind—a small girl swinging beneath the sprawling branches of a wisteria tree, her laughter ringing through the warm afternoon air. She sat on a makeshift swing, fashioned from a simple rope tied securely to a sturdy limb.

Her long brown hair cascaded in damp curls, clinging to her rosy cheeks that glowed with the flush of childhood joy. The image was striking, almost magical in its innocence.

Even then, though he was just a boy, Reginald found himself drawn to her. He couldn’t name the feeling—perhaps admiration, or something deeper—but the little girl enchanted him. He longed to join her, to be part of her happiness.

Years later, that same girl was his to claim.

“You’ve always belonged to me, Phoebe,” Reginald whispered fiercely, pressing his lips to her forehead. He pulled her tightly against him, ignoring the frantic struggles and frantic attempts she made to escape his grasp.

Phoebe clawed at his face, pushing desperately against his chest, but her efforts were futile against his overwhelming strength.

“Please… no…” Her voice cracked, trembling with fear and revulsion. His touch sent shivers of disgust crawling across her skin—the same sickening feeling she had experienced whenever Kevin had come near her.

She had endured Kevin’s torment, then Perry’s possession, but Reginald’s assault felt like a nightmare she might not survive. Exhaustion weighed heavily on her, and all she wanted was for this horror to end.

“Relax. I’ll be gentle,” Reginald murmured, his hand tracing slow, deliberate patterns along her spine as he buried his face in the tender skin of her neck. The sight of the king’s mark branded on her sensitive flesh filled him with a dark, burning hatred.

A cruel smile twisted his lips as he bit down on the mark, tearing into the skin that bore the king’s claim. He wanted the king to feel every agonizing moment of what was happening to his mate. Perfect. Let him suffer.

Reginald needed Perry to understand, without a doubt, that Phoebe was now his prisoner.

“Ahhh!” Phoebe’s scream shattered the silence, ringing painfully in her ears. The destruction of the king’s mark sent a fresh wave of agony through the mate bond, tightening like a noose around her heart.

—

Perry’s Perspective

I had dispatched every available warrior to scour the lands for Phoebe. Beyond that, I sealed every border of the pack, determined to prevent Reginald and his followers from slipping into Obsidian Claw territory unnoticed.

If this search failed, I vowed to lead the assault myself. I would ensure that the entire pack—and every alliance backing them—paid a steep price for this betrayal.

I planned to burn them to ashes, to erase them from existence entirely.

That was the depth of my fury.

Then, suddenly, a crushing pain overwhelmed me, forcing me to collapse to my knees. The warriors surrounding me rushed forward, concern etched on their faces.

“My king, are you alright?” one asked, eyes wide with worry.

Their faces filled my vision, but I froze them with a furious roar.

“I—I don’t know… I’m sorry. I don’t know,” she shook violently, fear overtaking her. “I think… you should take her to a proper hospital…”

Nearby, a small child—likely the healer’s younger sister—wailed, tears streaming down her round cheeks as she reached out desperately toward her sister.

“Please, please don’t hurt her. I’ll do whatever you want. I’ll try harder!” Panic engulfed the young healer now.

Reginald and his men had stormed her home after discovering her healing abilities. There was no time to find a more skilled healer when Phoebe was choking on her own blood.

Phoebe lacked the natural healing powers most shifters possessed, so her recovery would be slow and uncertain. Without immediate care, she would die.

He refused to let that happen.

He had sacrificed too much to lose her now. Phoebe was finally within his grasp—he wouldn’t allow her to slip away so easily. Not even death could claim her from him.

“Take her to another room! Keep her there!” Reginald ordered, tossing the little girl to one of his warriors and commanding him to lock her away.

The child sobbed in terror, but the warrior obeyed without hesitation.

Reginald paced the house restlessly while the young healer struggled to save Phoebe’s life. His gaze fell on a family photograph hanging on the wall.

“You have an older sister? Where is she?” he asked quietly, curiosity mingling with his frustration.