Chapter 63: Chapter 63 A Brutal Form of Belief
Perry’s POV
Somehow, I listened to Flynn. My grip loosened on the warrior’s throat, and he collapsed to the ground, gasping desperately while clutching his neck. He thought death was coming for him. Air rushed into his lungs as he gulped greedily.
If he could have shifted into his beast form, he might have made one final attempt on my life. But someone like him couldn’t transform under such pressure—shifting required calm, not terror. Higher-ranking wolves might manage it, but a young warrior like him didn’t have that strength.
"You crossed a line," Flynn said, but he caught himself when he saw my expression. Speaking like that while I was enraged, especially with others watching, was a mistake.
My royal beta realized his error and dropped his head. I was beyond reason—confronting me in this state wasn’t smart.
Timothy stepped in, dismissing the warrior.
The warrior thanked them and got to his feet. He was heading for the door when agony exploded through his chest. Looking down, he saw my hand jutting from his ribcage.
Shock froze him, but it didn’t matter. I yanked my hand back, ripping his heart free.
The warrior hit the floor dead the next second, his heart still pulsing in my grip before I crushed it completely.
Neither Timothy nor Flynn grasped what happened until it was over. Even if they had, there was nothing they could have done. I moved too fast.
"Get someone to clean this mess," I said, then walked away, leaving my royal beta and gamma with the bloody corpse.
The warriors outside dropped to their knees when they saw me, terror written on their faces. They knew what this meant—one of those days when I lost all control and killed anyone who crossed me, even slightly.
A wrong look could earn them death on the spot, which had them shaking as they realized what they’d endure for who knew how long.
My murderous moods could last a day, two days, or stretch into a whole week, filling the palace air with the stench of blood.
Their assumptions weren’t far off. The urge to slaughter every warrior I encountered burned through me, leaving trails of death in my path.
But after trying to control my rage around Phoebe, I’d learned to restrain the impulse somewhat. She was all I wanted to see.
So the only blood on my hands came from the warrior’s crushed heart. The claw marks on my arm had already healed.
Down the corridor, warriors and servants fell to their knees while others scrambled to avoid me, afraid even their breathing might offend me.
Word of my madness spread quickly. Everyone knew about my dark mood.
They prayed the lady would survive, since I was heading straight for her bedroom.
——
Phoebe’s POV
I was organizing my clothes in the walk-in closet, admiring them despite knowing I’d probably never wear them. Too bright and fancy for my taste.
It was like staring at delicious food I couldn’t taste. That’s how these dresses felt.
Still, they made me happy. I never thought I’d own such beautiful clothes—nicer than anything my stepsister had.
Just looking at them brought me small joy.
A loud crash echoed from outside, like someone had kicked down my door. My heart jumped, but instinct pushed me to investigate.
I stepped out and found Perry striding toward me, blood coating his hands. The sight terrified me—crimson splattered his clothes.
"What happened?" I asked, fear making my voice shake. I hadn’t done anything to anger him. I’d tried so hard to stay invisible, not even leaving my room to avoid bumping into him.
But he always found reasons to visit me, usually in these dark moods.
I could never predict what state he’d be in. Right now looked like the worst yet.
I swallowed hard as he closed the distance without slowing.
I wanted to run, but he blocked my only escape route.
"What happened to your hand?" I asked, fighting to keep my voice steady despite the tremor.
He said nothing, but when he reached me, strong arms pulled me into a crushing embrace.
His face buried against my neck, startling me.
As royalty and king, Perry had a powerful build—tall and muscular, the perfect sovereign’s physique.
When he held me like this, it felt like he could swallow me whole. Strong enough to shatter every bone in my body, and I knew he could do it effortlessly.
Yet his touch remained gentle.
I felt the rumble in his chest, like he was restraining overwhelming emotions. I didn’t know what had happened or whose blood that was.
"What happened?" I asked again, instinctively rubbing his back in soothing circles. He let out a relieved grunt that sent shivers through me.
"I killed a warrior," he said, his hot breath against my skin making me tremble.
"Why?" My heart stopped. I’d guessed someone had died from all that blood, but his next words caught me off guard.
"I killed the warrior who claimed he never saw Reginald enter your room."
Stunned silence fell between us, suffocating and heavy. Thousands of questions raced through my mind.
"Do you... believe me? Do you have proof that Reginald was in my room?" Hope colored my voice—it must have been obvious because he didn’t answer right away. I held my breath, waiting.
"No. I don’t have evidence. He denied it to the end."
