All Chapters of The executioner and the Alpha King: Chapter 201 - Chapter 210

Eva’s point of view The door closes behind me with a soft click. I don’t bother turning on the lights. The moon leaking through the curtains is enough. My feet move on their own, muscle memory guiding me to the closet at the far end of the room. I open it slowly, pushing my clothes to the side. Dresses, coats, shirts — they slide along the rail, obedient, revealing the wall behind. There they are. Dozens of notes. Torn scraps of parchment, elegant script, rough scribbles. Some neat, some frantic. Tacked and taped, overlapping, curling at the corners. My map of madness. I let out a slow breath and start reading them one by one, like a priest reciting prayers at a ruined altar. “The mirror lies, but the blood knows.” I frown. That one always feels the worst. The most personal. The most dangerous. “Nothing is what it seems.” Obvious by now. I could’ve written that myself. I almost laugh, but the sound dies in my throat. “To see through the mirror you must first break the one

Theo’s Point of View Two weeks. That’s all I have until Eva’s birthday. Two weeks until the prophecy is supposed to start unraveling like a cursed sweater knitted by Fate herself. Two weeks until all hell might break loose. And what am I doing? Pacing back and forth like a lunatic in my office, wearing a hole in the rug and stressing over two equally terrifying things: 1. The end of the world as we know it. 2. What the hell to buy my mate for her birthday. And not just any birthday. Her eighteenth. The first birthday she gets to celebrate without blood on her hands, without chains on her ankles, without someone else telling her who the hell she’s supposed to be. No pressure. I run a hand through my hair, frustrated. “Aries? You there, buddy? I could really use a pep talk right now.” There’s a pause, then I feel a sleepy stretch in the back of my head. The way he moves reminds me of a cat waking up in the sun—leisurely, smug, completely unbothered by the fact that I’m spira

Parker’s Point of View Mornings like this are rare. The window’s open just enough to let in a breeze that smells like pine and lavender. Trixie is curled beside me in a tangle of sheets and wild hair, wearing one of my shirts and a smug little smile because she knows it drives me crazy. Her bare legs are tangled with mine. My arm is under her neck. My dignity is probably somewhere under the bed, right next to her socks. I don’t care. Our room is technically hers—because let’s be honest, she took it over the second she moved in—but I never left. Not after the first night. Not after the second. Not ever. We’re on the same floor as Theo, Eva, and Elias. It used to feel intimidating. Now it just feels… like home. Trixie yawns, stretching like a cat and punching me in the ribs in the process. “Ow.” She snickers without opening her eyes. “That’s what you get for stealing the covers.” “I am the covers.” “You’re warm and annoying,” she mutters, burying her face in my neck. “Like a

Eva’s point of view The past two weeks passed in a blur. Between decoding ancient crap, sneaking around castles at night, pretending I sleep more than three hours, and occasionally cuddling Theo like the emotionally unstable ball of knives that I am, time just slipped through my fingers. Now there are exactly two days until my birthday. And instead of feeling excited, all I feel is pressure. Thick and heavy, like someone dumped a mountain on my shoulders and said, “Good luck.” I sit at the long dining room table, poking at a lukewarm croissant and waiting for the rest of the gang. I summoned them all through the mind link for what I called a little chat. Let’s call it what it is: brunch with a side of emotional damage. The first to arrive are Sonia and Michael, walking in hand-in-hand like the poster children for post-sex bliss. Their faces are glowing. Actually glowing. It’s disgusting. I sip my coffee. “What’s up, lover birds? Somebody had a good night,” I mutter just loud eno

Eva’s point of view I wake up with the weight of Theo’s arm draped over my waist and his face buried in my hair, warm breath ghosting across the back of my neck. The sheets smell like him—earthy, warm, familiar. Safe. Which is ironic, considering what today holds. The party last night plays like a flickering film in my head: laughter, terrible dancing, too much cake, the feeling of being loved and, for once, allowing myself to enjoy it. And then… the after party. Just me and Theo. Skin on skin. His hands like anchors. My lips whispering things I never thought I’d say out loud. The way he touched me—like he wasn’t sure we’d get another night. He was right. “Hey,” he murmurs groggily behind me. “You’re awake.” “Barely,” I mutter. He shifts, kissing the back of my shoulder. “Good. Up. Get dressed. I have a surprise.” “I just opened my eyes, Theo. Let me enjoy this one moment of peace before the universe starts throwing knives again.” “Come on, birthday girl,” he says, sitting