Father's Eyes Mother's Rage Book Novels & Stories

“I don’t care!” It was the angriest any of them had ever seen their mother. Analiese Finley raged, having mixed success at restraining a savagery that kept forcing itself to the fore. It was a struggle for her to return her eyes to their murky blue each time they flashed red. Her attention was for their father—her indignation, her animosity, her venom. The woman crossed the room to sit between him and his sister, forcefully pulling them to her so that their heads rested on either shoulder.

The beautiful girl in my father's hands turns her chubby face toward me and I see the face of my mother staring into my soul. I immediately turn around. I feel the fire burning through my veins as rage consumes me. I attack the first of my father's men with everything in me. I bite and scratch as he lands blows on my exposed head. I take one punch that makes me dizzy which scares me so I grab his nuts and yank. He screams bloody murder as the smell of iron fills the air.

Her horror-stricken gaze pierced through me. Mama got into an argument with Papa, and it quickly turned ugly. Her voice, usually calm and comforting, was now a storm of rage and pain. No one made Mama cry and got away with it. Papa had to intervene, his presence a cold wave trying to douse the flames. But the damage was done; bitterness lingered long after the shouting stopped.

I say sweetly. Charles laughs. His gray eyes twinkle with life. He doesn’t look like he’s been suffering. If anything he looks fine. That irks me to no end. His face makes me want to punch it till it’s a bloody mess of bones and blood. This bastard. This slimy bastard. I turn to my mother. She’s glaring at me with a venomous look in her eyes. I greet her with a wordless nod then turn to my father. He stares at me blankly, his weathered face impassive, but his lips pressed together.

Lucas quickly comforted her, saying, "Ms. Lamont, even though you're not our mommy, Cheryl and I still like you." The smile on Ivana's face slowly faded, and her eyes were filled with disgust. "After spending time with Yara, you look down on your own mother, huh? If I'd known you'd be such little ingrates, I should have strangled you both at birth!" Cheryl and Lucas shrank into a corner of their bed. They were too terrified to even breathe. "I was unfortunate enough to give birth to you two useless pups! If you dare bring up Yara in front of me again, I won't show you mercy next time!" Ivana spat.

He had black hair and glacier blue eyes. Those eyes contained a cold fury that left me shaking. They promised death. I held on to my mother, trembling in fear. “Reverse what you did, Lyla." His deep baritone voice was like a dagger, sharp and dangerous. My mother laughed and I held on tighter, it wasn't her normal laugh “Why would I? You deserve it.” her voice was hard. He took a step closer." I wouldn't ask again.” he growled. My mother remained silent, lips curled upwards.

his voice is cold and angry. "If it were Mother in this bed, what would you have done?" I stare at him incredulously. My father lets out a frustrated sigh and the door opens behind him and my mother walks in. She looks at me in the bed with Ward and then at my father, who looks like he is getting ready to explode. My mother slips in the door behind him but he doesn’t turn around to greet her like he normally would. He must really be pissed. "He would have done the exact same thing," my mother says as she places her hand on my father's shoulder. I know that she is trying to calm the rage that is burning inside of him.

I said after a lot of complaining from Trisha, immediately I said that she stopped what she was doing and turned around with a frown on her face, I could sense the anger flushing on her face and I wanted to laugh, she looked like a red tomato about to explode, and I was afraid she might explode. My mother was beautiful and young despite having grown-up children. She was beautiful with golden blonde hair which I guessed my brother took from, and I took my father's brown hair. Her blue eyes made her look gorgeous. I couldn't help but actually applaud her for having beautiful children like us, and then again the temper. She was hot-tempered and got upset effortlessly. Whenever she was in such a

It sounded horrible to think about. "Mom." He turned to his father. "Dad." He straightened and hardened his face. "You didn't call beforehand. That's unusual." "Oh, but we did," his mother stated, looking extremely unamused and a little ticked. "You would know this if you had bothered to check your phone." She crossed her hands and glared at him, her eyes very much like her son's. They had the same light brown eyes that glinted in rhythm to their emotions. She was stunning, her lush brown hair was barely affected by the passage of time and her face seemed like porcelain, skin soft and clear, reflecting years of experience and strength. Her eyes were lifted high, the caramel bowls of wisdom a

scoffing, father rolled his eyes at me, “But you will both be dead by tomorrow night for it to even matter, “I still won’t force her!” I growled, “So you’ll have both of you wound up dead instead!” Father bellowed as his anger rose within his chest, “I will NOT lose my son!” and the aggravation and desperation only intensified in his stare toward me. I rose up as my whole body tensed, I stared my father down for a moment as I felt the heat pulsing through my veins, it was heat caused by rage, anger, and every other emotion imaginable toward not being able to just claim my mate.