Prisoner Of Your Eyes Novels & Stories

Belle York, my wife, was pregnant, but on our way back from getting the diagnosis, she said, “I have something to tell you. The baby is Harry’s. I also got a notice saying that my health won’t let me have another baby after this one.” When she saw my smile freeze, she took out a paternity test. Harry Grant, my brother-in-law, was indeed listed as the father. Her voice was eerily calm. “On the day you fell asleep at the back of the jeep with fever, we did it in the passenger seat, right where I’m sitting.” In an instant, I felt like I had fallen into the abyss. I opened my mouth, but it was like something was blocking my throat. As she spoke, Belle cast her eyes on her swollen belly,

“You’re something else. In the end, we’re just going to kill this woman anyway. Hahahaha, let’s go!” “Be careful! If you so much as scratch Princess Chu, we might be the ones our master wipes out. Better not mess with this woman!” said the criminal who appeared to have only one right eye. His left eye was covered by an eye patch, and upon hearing the one-eyed man’s words, the other two immediately stopped their lecherous thoughts. After all, what the man said made sense—if they wanted to stay alive, they shouldn’t cause trouble until they received orders from their master. If they caused trouble now, the consequences would be far beyond what they could bear—which is why they would bide their

Blood pours from the corner of his eye, thick and fast, sliding down his cheek like a crimson tear. I tilt my head, studying it like an artist appraising his canvas. Then I twist. Not fast. Not deep. Just enough to shred the muscle behind the eye. His whole body convulses. War doesn't flinch. He just stares—stone-still, jaw clenched, tracking every drop like he's memorizing it. Like he needs to see him suffer as badly as I do. When the eye finally collapses, leaking pulp and blood, I pull the pick free. It makes a soft, wet pop as it slides loose.

‘Now is not the time. ‘His wolf is on the surface; let me out. I want to meet my mate.’ ‘That isn’t true,’ I tell her. The second his hand lifts my chin and my eyes lock with his, I know Eva isn’t lying. His beautiful blue eyes are replaced with a golden brown pair. But the color of his eyes keeps changing. His wolf is fighting to take control, but Theodore won’t let him. I have heard of how the wolf of an Alpha is the hardest to control. He must be fighting hard to push his wolf back.

In the depths of his blue eyes, she saw a reflection of her own resolve, a shared courage forged in the fires of adversity. As Nora entered the courtroom, the atmosphere was tense, with hushed conversations and the occasional shuffle of papers. The room is adorned with wood-panelled walls, and the solemnity is accentuated by the judge's bench at the front. Nora sat on one side, her gaze steady, her mind drifted to the moment she had rushed in and seen Alexander. He was still holding the gun and Sebastian was on the floor groaning, Nora could almost feel the blood in her fingers like it just happened.

He set his champagne flute on the round table and asked, "What reasons do you think a man has for approaching a lady?" Natalie pursed her lips, her gaze turning frosty. "I doubt you're after my eyes." Aaron's expression hardened, but only for a second. He feigned nonchalance. "You sure know how to crack a joke, Ms. Sutton." She put up her hands as if to dismiss such credit, saying wryly, "You think I'm joking, Mr. Jespier, but it's a true story. My ex-husband only got close to me because he wanted my eyes. He stole my corneas and gave them to his beloved."

POV: AIRYS My eyes met Daimon’s. He slowly leaned forward, assessing me with a furrowed brow, attentive. “Why are you doing this to me?” My voice was a trembling whisper. It was the Beta who answered. “The witness has scars on her back—deep marks.” He stepped forward, presenting images. Photos I had no idea when or how had been taken. “We also have footage of the prisoners’ actions.” My vision darkened for a moment. The trial no longer depended on me.

"Sir Mark, since you are so good to me, I would like to tell you her secret. If one day you will finally meet Calla, and you see that she's not your type, do not look directly at her eyes." "Her eyes?" I repeated, wondering what sense there was in avoiding her eyes. "Yes," Cynthia looked straight at me, collecting my full attention. "She can win any man she fantasizes through her eyes." "What do you mean?" I asked, not realizing both my hands were gripping the edge of the table as I glued my eyes on her. To my frustration, she smiled and shook her head. "I'm sorry, sir. This is not the right time to tell you about it."

Emma Ninety-six hours and fifty minutes had passed. Emma was locked up in that same bedroom belonging to her captor. Her eyes were fixed on a certain spot on the white ceiling. They were dull, as if they belonged to a dead person. Dull and lifeless. They shed no more tears; they had dried up, and the traces of them were now parched on her cheeks.

I spared one last look to where Zelena and Gunner were arguing with Doyle, then followed silently after the prisoner. They took him around the side of the house and into a shed like structure. I ran over to the outside wall and pressed my ear to the cool metal to listen. Roe was fussing over the prisoner, while ordering her Mate and the others to bring her water, and clean clothing, and blankets. I snuck a little further forward to where there was a small window high off the ground. I'm not going to be able to reach it by myself, I need something to stand on. I ran back to where I saw a car tyre leaning against the shed. Being as silent and as fast as I could, I rolled it to the window and j