Romans & histoires Skull Is Harrys Father Fanfiction

He pulled out a handkerchief from his pocket and gently dabbed at the sweat on my forehead. I smiled at him, my heart softening as I noticed the worry in his eyes. I leaned down and kissed his forehead lightly, my lips lingering there for a moment. Looking at Harry, I saw the same striking features he shared with his father, John. The same eyes, the same chin, same shape of lips, same eyebrows, same every fucking thing. But Harry’s heart was different. He wasn’t cold like John. He wasn’t capable of the cruelty that ran in his father’s veins.

I said trying to check his body for any wounds. "Sis, am fine," Harry replied with a light smile. Harry had joined the army before my father was killed. Unlike Andrew, he had always loved fighting so my father thought it would be good if he was with the army. He was the only one who wasn't demoted to a slave after my father was killed as Alpha Kaine thought he would serve well in the army. "Sis, Andrew told me you were planning on escaping from the pack," Harry suddenly said jolting me out of my thoughts.

“The first six kills were formulaic. The members. Same depth, same spot—wound to the heart. It was rough and swift, and that can only be anger.” My voice drops so that only the two of us can hear. “Baby, where are you getting at?” Harry doesn’t hide his blush on time as I crouch beside him, my thigh rubbing his. “The priest?” “As for him,” he keeps his tone professional. “The father died minutes later. It seems he had a conversation with our guy. Judging from his eyes, his throat was slit while talking.”

~Hudson’s Point of View~ *The visions I’ve gotten of our father through your memories are of him so strong, big and tough. But gentle with our mother and sisters. This… this is not that male,* Harlen says, making a face of confusion in our head. We stare at Harlow sobbing in the arms of a basic skeleton. He’s got some skin holding his bones together but barely. The marring of his skin and the sunken orbs of eyes tell the story of an extremely broken male.

I ignored how he was making me feel and continued to make my way to the dining room, taking slow, light steps so I don't attract attention. "Lots of them?" My dad asked with a joking tone. I saw how Harry's lips turned at the side which meant that he found the question amusing too. He pushed his fingers into his hair which he had dyed back to brown–the original colour. "Not a lot of them" Silence. That is how Harry is. One second he's friendly, the next second, he's cold. "Not a lot of them" My dad repeated, adding his hum to keep the conversation flowing. "You talk like you know women so well"

It's music to my ears. It felt as if I just got stabbed in the heart. Harry cackled even more smugly before whispering into my ear, "Feeling envious? It's too bad you've got a defective dick. Keep up the good work of slaving away for my son and me. Once my son inherits all of the Fuller family's shares, I'll be sure to let him honor you as his godfather." What was that? My mind went blank. Face flushing with anger, I grabbed Harry by the collar and demanded to know what he meant by that.

I told her. "And how exactly are you going to do that Sunders?." A familiar voice asked me. I looked up and saw Harry grinning at me. He had this evil look on his face that makes me feel bored. I knew he was behind this from the beginning. When we left my mother's mansion, we had barely gotten far when a car crossed our way. I went out to check who the fucker was and that's all I remember as something hit my head. And waking up I find myself here. This is all so stupid and useless. I get what he's trying to do, perhaps kill me so he can finally have Carina.

“I – I’m so sorry about that.” “It’s okay. No harm done,” Dad said quickly. I didn’t miss the look Theo gave me. I didn’t want his pity. It wasn’t like my Mom was dead anyway. I cocked a brow at him, holding his gaze. I wanted him to look away, but he simply smiled. I was the one to look away instead. Someone cleared their throat. Harry had come downstairs dressed in a white shirt and slacks and smelling like Dad’s cologne. “This is my son, Harry.”

His mother’s voice was gentle, but there was no mistaking the finality in it. Harry sat up suddenly, his face contorting with fury. Without warning, he threw a glass cup across the room, the sharp crack of it shattering against the wall making me flinch. “Mom, why don’t you do something?” His voice was rough with anger. “Dad—” His gaze locked onto Karl. “Let me just go and kill whoever is taking her away... I’m thirsty for that, Dad.” I froze. What? The words hit me like a slap. Who was this Sasha that he was willing to go this far for?