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Chapter 141: A Face from the Past
Last Updated:
2025-06-08 14:36:23
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The executioner and the Alpha King Chapter 295 – Lemonade and Laughter
Kristina’s Point of View The market is buzzing with end-of-summer life—fishermen yelling about their fresh octopus, old ladies arguing over who makes the best glyko koutaliou, and children running barefoot between olive stands. But I have one mission today. Paint supplies. For a girl who looks like she’s seen war from the inside. I glance at my list. Acrylics in soft tones, thick brushes, sketching pencils, and canvas. The shopkeeper eyes me like I’m about to open an art school. “Not for me,” I say, smiling. “It’s for a guest. A young woman. She… needs to paint.” He nods with a kind of silent understanding and wraps everything up with care. ––– By the time I reach the cabin, the sun is high and the cicadas are screaming like they haven’t taken a break since spring. I knock lightly, balancing the shopping bags on one hip. The door swings open and Eva blinks at me, barefoot, hair loose over her shoulders. “Kalimera,” I greet her. “I come bearing gifts.” Her eyes widen when sh
The executioner and the Alpha King Chapter 294 - Jealousy and bullseye
Eva’s Point of View The sea is the first thing I hear when I wake up. A steady lull, like a lullaby sung by the Earth herself. Waves kiss the shore beyond the window, and the scent of salt lingers in the air like an old memory. I turn, blinking slowly. The sheets are tangled around me, warm and soft. The house is still. A week. That’s how long it’s been since the Goddess brought me here. Since she gave me peace… and silence. Since I asked to forget—at least for a little while. My hand brushes over my belly. Nothing shows yet, but it’s there. A quiet life, flickering like a secret flame. A knock on the door pulls me out of my thoughts. Then a cheerful voice, muffled but familiar: “Eva? You awake?” I smile despite myself. “Come in.” The door swings open, revealing Kostas, hair messy from the wind, a t-shirt hanging carelessly over his shoulder. “You sleep like a bear,” he teases. “Breakfast’s ready. Thought I’d drag you out before Aunt Kristina sends a search party.” “Thank
The executioner and the Alpha King Chapter 293 — A Warrior’s Promise
Eva’s Point of View The waves call me. After lunch, with my belly full and my heart heavier than I expected, I slip away from the house. The laughter still echoes behind me—Katerina bickering with Kostas, Paris’s low voice, Maria humming as she clears the table. I need the sea. I need silence. The path is familiar now. Olive branches sway above me as I walk down toward the dunes, sandals in hand, toes curling into the warm earth. The beach opens up before me like a memory I never lived—a stretch of soft white sand, water shimmering silver-blue under the summer sun. I sit at the edge, where sand meets sea, and hug my knees to my chest. The wind tangles my hair. My eyes close. Then a voice breaks the stillness. “You always vanish after meals, or is this just a dramatic habit of yours?” I glance up. Kostas. He drops down beside me, a little too close, brushing sand off his pants with a sigh. He’s carrying a peach in one hand and offers it to me. “No pressure. I stole it from Mar
The executioner and the Alpha King Chapter 292 — A Seat at the Table
Eva’s Point of View I follow the others into the dining room, still clutching the edge of my napkin like a lifeline. The warmth of the kitchen fades into something quieter here—more formal, more arranged. Two long wooden tables stretch across the room. One is already bustling with chatter—the omegas I just cooked with are slipping into their seats, sharing quiet jokes, passing bowls between them with practiced ease. That’s where I move first. Naturally. I head toward the empty seat at the end of the omega table, but before I can sit, Maria appears beside me with a firm but kind smile. “Oh no, no, not there, kori mou,” she says, placing a gentle hand on my back. “This way.” I blink. “I can sit there, it’s okay—” She cuts me off with a soft laugh. “You can, yes. But you shouldn’t.” Confused, I let her guide me to the larger, more open table across the room. It’s still mostly empty, but the chairs are sturdier, polished, spaced more widely. I hesitate. Maria leans in, h
The executioner and the Alpha King Chapter 291 — A Taste of Belonging
Eva’s Point of View The sea breeze carries the scent of thyme and salt as I leave the little cabin behind, letting the door click softly shut behind me. Artemis’s words still echo in my mind: “You don’t need to give much. A smile, a thank you, a gesture… that’s how bridges are built.” So, I walk. Past the low stone wall and down the narrow path that winds through the olive trees. Sunlight dapples the ground in golden flecks. The leaves whisper secrets above me in a language only the wind can understand. As I make my way toward the pack house, I see them. Wolves in human form, tending gardens, cleaning tools, laughing by the laundry lines. Brown skin kissed by the sun, dark curls tousled by the breeze, eyes that hold the warmth of the earth itself. They’re all so… Mediterranean. So deeply rooted. And I— I glance at my reflection in a glass window. Pale. Blonde. Eyes like storm clouds. A ghost drifting through someone else’s story. I nod politely to a few who wave. They sm
The executioner and the Alpha King Chapter 290 - Welcome
Paris’s Point of View The morning air still smells like sea salt and olive trees when I set down my coffee cup and give Kostas the look. He’s balancing a slice of bread on his mouth like it’s a prize and arguing with his sister over whether or not the new girl is an actual spirit or just pale from jet lag. Kristina sighs and pulls her scarf tighter around her braid. “You’re both idiots.” “Thank you,” Kostas replies, absolutely unbothered, “but some people pay for this level of charm.” I chuckle quietly. These two could make a funeral feel like a picnic. But I let the moment stretch, because I know what’s coming next. “It’s time,” I say simply, and they both freeze. “Let’s go welcome our guest.” Kristina immediately straightens, graceful as ever. Kostas stands slower, like he’s preparing for battle—or maybe a date. Hard to tell with that one. We walk through the olive grove in comfortable silence. The cabin isn’t visible from the pack house, tucked away like something o
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