Chainsaw Man Eye Patch Woman Novels & Stories

But it was as if the closer he got, the more unclear her words became. When he finally made it to the front of the crowd of his own men, he saw that Edgar was standing in front of the woman, his face smoothened into a blank, yet alert mask. The little figure on the woman's leg was a young girl that could not be more than eight or nine years old, her hands stretched out on both sides of her and her eyes, shut. A sense of foreboding gripped Bran. The woman's eyes were wide, panicked and red-rimmed with just a little hint of madness in the hazel-orbs. When she opened her mouth to talk again, her sharp fangs made an appearance.

Mate. "Damion, you could've called." Jayce said to him, but he couldn't focus on him. His eyes were solely on the woman before him. She was slightly taller than Lily with hazel eyes and red curly hair that was like a bob haircut and the left side of her head shaved low. She had piercings lining her ears and a thin layer of makeup. Aside from the other two, she was more awake and ready to go. "Can I help you?" She asked, her voice like sweet velvet to his ears.

Eyes bloodshot with too many late nights and not enough safety. At his side stood a woman I didn’t recognize—maybe ten years older than me, with close-cropped dark hair and a scar running from her left temple into her hairline. Her posture screamed commander. Her gaze swept the room like she was counting exits. She wore a strip of Bloodthorn red bound around her arm, but not the old crest. Reformist, then. Theron rapped his knuckles lightly against the table to call the room to order.

Seasoning other than salt for curing was rare for us. I savor the last morsel, wishing for more when I feel eyes. I quickly sniff to find that while I had been enjoying my snack, I had let my guard down and another wolf had entered the premises. He was large, not quite as large as Remus and his human had a scar on it's jaw. He was bronze, with light messy curls and striking green eyes. His chin had thick stubble and was squared. I stiffened under his gaze and I backtracked quickly, weaving a sloppy pattern to lose him in the throng of people lining this street.

I did not know why having multiple partners was a big deal for some business owners. “Look at me, Olivia. Look into my eyes. People are watching”,I said. She reluctantly looked into my eyes, but when she did our gazes locked. “Do you look at every woman like that? All your whores and sex toys?”, she asked, stammering at every word.

She has her hand on the man's shoulder. But I can't see her face. Someone has taken a sharp object—a knife, maybe Ciro's knife—and scratched it out. The paper is torn. The scratches are violent, angry white gouges over her eyes, her mouth, her smile. It is an erasure born of hate. I lean closer. My breath hitches. I know that dress. I reach into my pocket, my fingers trembling, and pull out the cheap, plastic locket I always wear. I pop it open.

He pushes the door back at me and enters the living room. Vesper instantly lands me a hard slap on my cheek. I yelp and fall on my face with a thud, my ear ringing from the slap. I quickly spin around on the floor, backing away from him as he takes slow steps towards me. “Hello, Mrs Everhart,” he utters in a voice that gives me the creeps. “You look lovelier than the last time I saw you, cowering in front of me.” I swallow the lump in my throat as I stare hard at him. He has multiple jagged scars crisscrossing his cheeks and forehead. His right eye is hidden behind a black leather eye patch, concealing what I assume to be an empty socket. Liam must've burnt him pretty bad.

"I don't think you'll restrain yourself when you get home... Your wound won't heal anytime soon." Sean cast a meaningful glance at Gladyce. "You're right about that." A woman stood outside the door. Sean paused and his expression changed slightly. The woman wore sunglasses, and her scarf covered half of her face, so it was basically impossible to see her appearance. She was tall, plump, and charming. Daisy's first impression of her was that she was like a fox spirit. "Mr. Handerson, are you leaving? I'm here to visit you. After all, my men have offended you."

“I need help. My friend’s hurt.” The woman is on all fours gasping for breath as she watches me do the same. “What are you?” “Me?” I rasp, my hair sticking to my face and neck. I brush it away, looking the woman in the eyes. She’s beautiful, with thick copper blonde hair that’s likely very long, but is currently tied back in a damp, woven bun at the nape of her slender neck. Her hazel eyes are narrowed into a cat-like glare as she watches me, her mouth pressed into a tight line. Her golden skin, nearly the same color as her hair in places, is patched in pink from the cold water and probably a touch of anger because I wrestled her into a creek. What choice did I have?

Smoke is coming from his body as if he was set on fire from the inside out. I turn around slowly. The man who was behind me is alive, but seems like he’s in a stupor. There’s blood coming out of all the holes in his head. “Pssst!” I look at the broken window to see who is calling out. A woman is hanging upside down like a bat. She’s wearing a dark cloak, but I see someone is holding her by the ankles. A dark hood hangs down and makes her silver hair pool inside. Her violet eyes look remorseful.