All Chapters of The executioner and the Alpha King: Chapter 281 - Chapter 290

Theo’s point of view They’ve all stopped searching. Sonia passed out on the couch in the war room an hour ago. Parker’s downstairs with a bottle of something strong, pretending to read. Marcus is pacing, but slower now—half-broken, like the rest of us. But I’m still here. At the fountain. Where she should be. The water keeps flowing like it didn’t watch her disappear. Like it wasn’t the backdrop for one of the worst moments of my life. Her blood is gone now—someone wiped it away. They said it was “too disturbing.” Too disturbing? Fuck them. She was right here. I close my eyes, pressing my palms to the cold stone. I replay it again. And again. Her face when she looked at me. The tremble in her hands. The way she didn’t cry out when he marked her. She just… stared at me. Like she already knew what was about to happen. I should’ve stopped it. I should’ve dragged her away, told her Aries and i loved her . But I didn’t. I stood there like a coward while she bled. And now the f

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

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

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

Paris’s point of view If there’s one thing I’ve learned after all these years, it’s this: never expect peace at a dinner table full of wolves. Especially not when you’re related to most of them. The food is hot, the air smells like roasted lamb and oregano, and Kanella is already giving Nikos the “don’t you dare pick that with your fingers” look. He ignores her and does it anyway. Katerina smacks his hand. Kostas groans dramatically as if world hunger personally offended him by delaying this meal. Honestly, just another Tuesday. “Why is there parsley in this?” Kostas mutters as he pokes at his plate like the herbs are plotting against him. “Because it’s called flavor, you uncultured goat,” Katerina snaps. “I’m sorry, I must’ve missed the episode where Gordon Ramsay trained you to ruin everything green and edible.” “Keep talking and I’ll garnish you with parsley and throw you to the sea.” “Bold of you to assume the sea would take you back.” Kristina’s already giggli