The Executioners Novel Novels & Stories

She raised her hand, signaling for the executioner to proceed with the punishment. The executioner, a grim figure clad in black, stepped forward with the gleaming sword. The crowd fell into a heavy silence, knowing that there was no turning back now. Lucius, as the overseer of the execution, stood with a resolute expression, his duty clear despite the heaviness in his heart. As the blade fell, a collective gasp rippled through the crowd. Alpha Nyx and Lord Randall's heads rolled to the ground, and the courtyard was filled with a profound and somber silence.

Then a stone in the corner of the nursery shifted. It was a block I had always thought was part of the wall, solid and unmoving. But now it slid backward with a harsh grinding sound. A dark opening appeared. Slowly, the Executioner climbed out of the tunnel beneath the floor. He wore torn clothes. His skin looked pale and grey. Yet when he looked at Leo Kael, something dangerous still lived in his eyes. “The lie was beautiful, Alpha,” the Executioner said quietly. His voice sounded dry and tired. “The coffin. The smoke. The grieving mother.

I felt a cold dread creeping up my spine as I realized that we were too late. The executioner's axe hung in the air, its blade glinting in the sunlight. Elara's hand clenched around mine as the crowd held its breath. I closed my eyes, unable to watch. The sound of the blade falling was like thunder, shaking the manor. The shrieks that followed were deafening. I opened my eyes to a gruesome sight. The platform was awash with blood, Bethany and Beretta's lifeless bodies lying in a pool of crimson. The crowd's murmurs died down, replaced by an unsettling silence.

"How many?" "Twenty. Maybe more." Garvin kept pace, his usual composure cracked. "They're wearing Council colors, Ronan. Black and gold. The Executioners are here." My blood turned to ice. The Council Executioners weren't peacekeepers or diplomats. They were the enforcers who appeared when the High Council deemed a pack irredeemable. When they arrived, wolves died. Packs fell. Bloodlines ended. Varyn had said they will be here in two weeks time but they are here now. At my borders.

These four had also been hired, though they claimed ignorance of their employer. "The bald one for questioning," I decided after conferring silently with Amelia. "The rest die now." This time I handled all three executions, methodically tearing out hearts and dropping them onto the growing pool of blood at the foot of the dais. Amelia watched with calm detachment, her expression betraying neither disgust nor satisfaction, merely the necessary attention of a ruler witnessing justice delivered. The final group consisted of three males with the lean, hungry look of true rogues—wolves who had been cast out from their packs or chosen to abandon pack structure entirely.

Salvatore inquired to his younger brother, Marco looking at him with a raised eyebrow before he pushed himself off the wall and marched towards the man their disgust was reserved for. "Who the fuck are you?" The man growled, staring up at Marco with loathing in his eyes. "The executioner,” He smirked in satisfaction and, pressing the barrel to his forehead as he froze in place. "And the judge has sentenced you to die,” He growled before pulling the trigger, the bullet flying out with a silent whoosh from its suppressor before penetrating the man’s skull with an exit wound. The men looked away as the stench of blood flooded around the room.

And to think that the girl herself also had someone like that in the world. Joshua tries to wipe the tears streaming down her face, but her crying never seems to end. It's as if a dam has burst inside her. Crimson appears at the end of the corridor. He is accompanied by two men wearing pants and shirts, but also doctor's coats. Emanuele's nails dig into Joshua's arm as she realizes who they are. The executioners. The ones who will administer the lethal injection. Her head begins to move back and forth in a muted sign of "no."

The Executioners of the Higher Courts had arrived. In their hands, they didn't hold pikes or swords. They held massive, double-headed executioner's axes made of condensed crimson erasure light, the blades vibrating with a hum that instantly turned the bone-stone floor beneath them into grey dust. The center Executioner raised its marble face toward Elara, and a voice like a heavy gavel striking a table echoed through the vault. “The line is broken. The correction is absolute. Step into the light of the gavel, little star, and receive your erasure.”

His eyes had been on me as he died, leaving me with one word as I felt our mindlink go cold. Avenge my death, and prove my innocence. And now, I was dying without doing that. The same death that had met my father. Through the red haze in my eyes, I saw the executioner step forward. The blade caught the light — broad, heavy, forged for a single purpose. As the executioner raised the blade, the crowd went silent, and then, every guard on every guard on the platform collapsed, falling to the ground. Simultaneously, their bodies began to convulse. They clawed at their throats, eyes rolling back. The executioner staggered, the blade slipping from his fingers, and crumpled beside the stocks with a

I flicked the hammer on the gun and barged into the kitchen. Nothing could have prepared me for what I walked in on. I was staring down seven gun barrels aimed at my head. Dread welled up in my chest and my stomach twists into knots. There were eight men squished up in my small kitchen. But only one had my heart sinking to my foot. Enzo Corretti. The King of New York. Without a doubt that is the man standing in my kitchen with a glass of water to his lips and a blank look in his green eyes. His file said he was handsome but Jesus Christ!