Semua Bab The executioner and the Alpha King: Bab 61 - Bab 70

Parker’s pov The wind howls like a creature clawing at the edges of the main castle. We barely make it inside before the downpour starts, soaked to the bone from the training grounds. I shove the heavy door shut behind us, grunting as the latch thuds into place. Trixie peels off her jacket and shakes it out, spraying water across the stone floor. “Great timing,” I mutter, wiping my face with a sleeve. “Couldn’t wait five more minutes, could it?” “You’re blaming the weather now?” she says, setting her damp boots near the hearth. “It’s not like the storm checked your schedule.” I ignore her and toss a few logs onto the embers in the fireplace. The fire’s nearly out—just our luck. I crouch, strike a match, and coax the flame back to life. The shutters rattle as I move to close them, slamming one shut against a particularly vicious gust. “Couldn’t wait a little longer, could they?” I glare at the lightning-slashed sky. “Had to go ghost-hunting in a cursed ruin during a damn st

Parker’s POV This is definitely the third time we’ve passed that creepy portrait. I squint at the smug-looking man with too many teeth and a hat that screams “compensating.” “I’m telling you, he’s mocking us.” “I don’t think it’s a portrait,” Michael whispers behind me, inching away from the wall. “I think it’s watching us.” Trixie crosses her arms. “You should’ve let me lead.” “You said to follow the draft,” I remind her, turning slowly in place. “And we did,” she says, gesturing wildly, “straight into the Bermuda Triangle of hallways!” “Technically, that was my line,” Lenny adds, chewing on something suspiciously crunchy. “But she’s not wrong.” I drag a hand down my face. “Okay. We go left this time.” “We already went left,” Trixie snaps. “No, last time we went Michael’s left,” I say, already moving. “My left was emotional, not directional,” Michael mutters, poking a suspiciously damp stone in the wall. “Why is everything in this castle wet?” “Because it’s a

Selene’s POV The cell is silent except for the slow, steady drip of water from a crack in the ceiling. I sit curled on the cold stone floor, back pressed against the damp wall, knees drawn to my chest. The shackles on my ankles no longer chafe—they’ve become part of me now. Part of the quiet ache that never leaves. Above me, a sliver of moonlight filters through the narrow barred window. Pale and soft, like a fading memory. The Moon Goddess watches silently, as she always has. Distant, unreachable—but the only presence I dare speak to. “I don’t ask for myself,” I whisper, my voice raw from disuse. “Just let him fail.” My head leans back against the wall with a soft thud. “Let him fail before he ruins them too.” Them. My daughters. Torn apart by his lies. One locked even deeper than me in a chamber I’ve never seen, drugged and kept docile, told she is sick. The other… I don’t know. He told me she was taken. Stolen in the night. I believed him for years. But now, I wonder. I

Theo’s POV I run my fingers along the leather spines of the ancient tomes, feeling the bumps and scratches carved by centuries of use. Most of these books haven’t been touched in years. Their bindings crackle softly under my touch, and the scent of old parchment clings to the air—earthy, musty, and somehow comforting. This library is massive. Three levels deep, with spiraling shelves that stretch into shadows, carved stone ladders, and floating platforms that hum softly when summoned by magic. I keep bumping my knee into the same chipped step, and there’s a cobweb stuck to my sleeve I keep forgetting to pull off. Eva stands a few feet away, fingers splayed across an open book, completely still except for the occasional flicker of her eyes. She hasn’t said much since we got here, but I can feel her focus. It radiates off her like heat—intense, silent, and pulsing with urgency. Sonia’s perched halfway up a ladder, flipping through a handwritten grimoire that smells like burned s

Eva’s POV The scent of old paper clings to my clothes. Dust floats lazily in the warm shafts of light pouring through the tall, arched windows, turning the air golden. Someone left a mug half full of cold tea on the side table. It smells faintly of mint and something herbal I can’t place. A book lies face-down beside it, pages dog-eared and curling at the edges. This part of the castle feels older than the rest. More… aware. Like it’s watching me. I walk slowly along the nearest bookshelf, letting my fingers drift across the uneven spines of ancient tomes. Some are wrapped in leather, others in bark, stitched together with twine or thread that hums softly with forgotten magic. Most are written in languages I don’t recognize, but my fingers linger on them anyway, drawn by the residual warmth of something once powerful. From the hallway, I hear the unmistakable sound of Parker and Trixie bickering. “We wouldn’t have been stuck that long if someone hadn’t poked the jellyfish or