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Chapter 248 – Second Chances and Second Failures
Last Updated:
2025-07-18 14:45:53
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The executioner and the Alpha King Chapter 287 - “Breakfast with the Wolves”
Kostas’s point of view By the time I make it back to the pack house, I’m starving. Not just hungry—Greek man whose soul is evaporating kind of starving. The kind where I start eyeing the furniture, wondering which chair leg might taste like lamb if I chew long enough. The scent of breakfast hits me before I even reach the back door. Eggs. Tomatoes. Something sugary, which probably means Kanella got up early again. Saints bless that woman’s chaotic love language: passive-aggressively overfeeding us until our arteries give out. I push open the door and walk in like I own the place—which, technically, I do not. But let’s be honest, I’ve lived here so long even the floorboards know my footsteps. “Look who the sea dragged in,” says Nikos without looking up from his coffee. “Let me guess—you meditated with the seagulls again?” “Close,” I say, grabbing a chair and collapsing into it. “Had a deeply spiritual encounter with a barefoot sea spirit. Or possibly a feral cat. Too early t
The executioner and the Alpha King Chapter 286- The quiet sea
Kostas’s point of view The sea is quiet this morning. A rare thing, really. Usually the wind wrestles with the waves by this hour, but today the water rests like glass, only a whisper of foam curling on the sand. I kick off my shoes at the edge of the path, ignoring how the gravel bites at my soles, and walk down the slope barefoot. The beach is empty—just how I like it. Just how it always is. I roll my shoulders, stretching out the stiffness from sleep and training, breathing in the sharp scent of salt and pine. There’s something sacred about this hour—before the village stirs, before the sun gets too bold. It’s just me, the sea, and the ghosts of my thoughts. Except today, someone else is here. A girl. She’s standing barefoot at the shoreline, her arms wrapped around herself despite the warmth. She doesn’t hear me at first, too caught up in the tide, in the horizon maybe. Her white robe clings to her knees where the sea has kissed it. Her hair is unbrushed, tumbling
The executioner and the Alpha King Chapter 285 – The House by the Sea
Author’s Note This chapter is dedicated to someone who meant allot to me—my dear friend Paris. He left this world too soon, and I still find myself reaching for words that don’t exist. But I do know this: he was the kind of person who made silence feel safe, who protected others without asking for anything in return, and who saw the best in people even when they couldn’t see it themselves. In this story, I’ve given his name to a character who carries the same quiet strength and steady heart. A leader. A father. A man shaped by loss, but not broken by it. A soul the sea itself would respect. Paris, this chapter is a small piece of the legacy you left behind—a way to keep you walking beside me, even now. I hope wherever you are, there’s sunlight on the water, and a gentle wind that reminds you how deeply you were loved. Thank you for being my friend, my anchor and a father when i needed you. Thank you for the laughs, the loyalty, and the light. You’ll always have a place
The executioner and the Alpha King Chapter 284 – The Shore of Forgetting
Eva’s Point of View Warmth. It’s the first thing I feel as the light brushes across my face, soft and golden like a lover’s kiss. I blink, eyes adjusting to the brightness, and slowly sit up. The sheets are cool and crisp, the mattress beneath me firm but comforting. I look around. The room is bathed in sunlight, gently filtered through sheer white curtains that dance in the breeze. The walls are pale, almost ivory, and the furniture is simple—whitewashed wood, smooth lines, no clutter. A small vase with wildflowers sits on the windowsill. Everything feels peaceful. But I don’t. My heart beats a little faster as I swing my legs over the edge of the bed. My bare feet touch the wooden floor, and something tightens in my chest. I don’t know where I am. I don’t know who I am. I walk slowly to the window, pulling the curtains aside. And then I freeze. Stretching out in front of me is an endless beach. The sand is soft and pale, the color of moonlight, and the waves roll in like a
The executioner and the Alpha King Chapter 283 – The Line Has Gone Silent
Nathaniel’s point of view It snaps. Not like a rope torn under strain. Not like a clean cut of a blade. No. The bond doesn’t break that gently. It shatters—without warning, without mercy. My breath catches, my chest constricting so suddenly I stagger backward, gripping the edge of the desk to stay upright. “Eva,” I whisper. But she doesn’t answer. I reach for her instinctively, opening the connection with the same spell I’ve used a thousand times to feel her mind. Her warmth. Her chaos. Nothing. Just silence. Cold and absolute. “Eva!” I call again, this time not with magic, but with raw voice. As if shouting through the void might matter. It doesn’t. I can’t feel her. Not even a flicker of her soul. The room tilts. I’ve lived too long. Survived too much. But I’ve never felt this kind of fear. Not even when Rufus cursed our blood. Not even when I buried our mother. Because this? This means she’s somewhere I can’t follow. Yet. I whisper an incantation
The executioner and the Alpha King Chapter 282 – Where the Dead Wait to Live
Rufus’s point of view She’s gone. I feel the moment the bond shatters, like glass crushed beneath the weight of fate. Britney. The last string tying me to the prophecy. To the plan. To the damn illusion that I might still win. Gone. I stumble against the edge of the stone table, jaw clenched, eyes unfocused. My throat burns with something I don’t recognize. Not grief. Not quite. Fury laced with the bitter tang of failure. The room dims for a moment. Or maybe it’s my vision. My mind racing too fast to hold on. I should’ve known she wasn’t strong enough. I should’ve bound her tighter. Given her more of the potion. More of me. I breathe through my teeth, slow and sharp. The silence in my mind—the absence where she used to echo like a trained songbird—gnaws at me. That empty space is worse than pain. It’s finality. “She’s dead,” I mutter aloud. “Just like the others.” The door creaks open behind me. I don’t turn. I already know who it is. Isabella. And, of course, Nathaniel
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