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

I slowly raised my head to look at him. I saw him staring at me. His eyes were scanning me with a dispassionate, almost cruel look. I felt my face flush, heat creeping from my neck to my cheeks. I could no longer keep eye contact with him. Because I saw the disgust in his eyes again, just like I did yesterday. 'Did he hate me?' I wondered. My mother let go of my hand and said to Trevor, "Your father is a kind man. When he married me, I told him that our family—"

My father's hands are still clawing at his throat, his eyes bulging from their sockets. "Don't kill your father, Ravelle. You'll regret it." I stare at him, at the terror in his eyes. "Regret it?" Her voice trembles, breaking on a sob. "Yes, Ravelle, please. Don't do this." I shake my head, never taking my eyes off him. "I doubt I'll regret it, Mother." My fingers tighten again and a choked gurgle tears from his lips. "What I'll regret is letting him live after everything he's done."

But now, all I saw in his eyes was rage and contempt. I glanced over at my father, and the look on his face terrified me even more. His eyes blazed with anger, disappointment, and something else—betrayal. My mind raced, my thoughts a chaotic swirl of fear and confusion. I could feel the heat of embarrassment creep up my neck as I desperately tried to take control of the situation.

His face has gone red and he’s already halfway to shifting as his whole body trembled in his wrath. “You fucking whore,” he spat, and my face paled. “Dad, I—" I try to explain but his fists connected with my face. My ears rang, my vision blurs. It was probably the shock of my father’s reaction that prevents me from seeing things clearly, now I’m seeing two of my father’s face instead of one. All I see is his eyes, and the color in them reflecting from the light—blood red. The eyes of an Alpha on the verge of going for his kill. I have never seen him so furious, not even once.

But my eyes move back to her face before I have authorised the movement, pulled by something I cannot immediately name, and what I find there is not what I was expecting from a woman dabbing champagne off her jaw in a hotel hallway. It is fire. Emerald eyes carrying a specific, bone-deep, mouth-watering fury that I recognise from somewhere I cannot immediately locate. And then I locate it. The same rage in those eyes that had looked up at me across a dinner table years ago and said, quietly and with complete certainty, that my dead mother would not be proud of what I had become. I had hated her for that. I still do. Of every woman in the city of New York, the one standing in front of me is N

The results from part two just went off in the mail to be analyzed. I guess I haven't told you about Dad. I love and respect my father. They had me young. He still keeps in shape. I got my black hair and curvy body from him. It looks better on me, tee hee. Got his blue eyes, too. I mean, he has to be a successful author; he LOOKS like the picture you see on the back of those adventure thriller books. He's nice, too. He listens to me. That means a lot. I can hang with him for hours. I'm so mad right now. His writing is awful, and I know it's because my mother is ignoring him, and now I know why. Fucking cunt.

Every drop of the tear shows their rage and pain. "I should not have left her alone," Amara's father said with regret, blaming himself. "Fvck," Cassandra mumbled when she saw Amara's mother in her husband's wife. "Who the hell did this?" Agatha asked. Their men froze behind them as Agatha pulled herself out of the floor and faced them wearing those fierce and dark eyes of hers. They knew what those eyes meant. Those are the eyes they always fear. The eyes of the beast who was about to kill with no mercy at all.

There was no light in his eyes. "What is it, darling?" "I have to tell you a lot of things. But first... I need you to reverse the ritual of Fuil..." He knew who I was talking about instantly. His eyes lost what little light there was. "Your mother... what did she do?" "She tried to kill Elyn. She sent twenty wolves." My father growled. "Is she- is she alright?" "No." I had never seen my father so angry in my life. He had always been a calm and collected man. As I watched, he pushed the door open and a loud growl left his lips as he ran to the dining room. His eyes were blazing.

The king asked softly, his blue eyes meeting my green ones, I smiled and involuntarily nodded as he intertwined his fingers with mine, this time turning his gaze to my father who seemed to be glaring at us. “What is the meaning of this nonsense?” Father asked angrily, his eyes flaring with rage, one that I had never seen before, no matter how many times he had argued or yelled at me, the rage I saw this time was never seen by me before, everyone’s attention now turned to us as father caused a commotion.

It courses through his veins, radiating from every fiber of his being. His eyes, usually filled with warmth and vibrancy, now burn with a fiery intensity. They pierce through his father's facade, reflecting a profound disdain and a smoldering resentment. The muscles in his jaw tighten, clenching and unclenching as he struggles to contain the seething rage that threatens to consume him.