Through The Eyes Of A Killer Novels & Stories

3RD POV "Then can you tell us what you have experienced, who knows, we may like your god." Nate said. The killer's expression turned hideous. His lips stretched in a slow, broken grin that didn’t reach his eyes. His eyes… they shifted, dark and hollow, like something had eaten away the man inside and left only a shell behind. A faint tremor ran through his shoulders, and the air in the cave thickened. For a moment, everyone held their breath.

But Aurel's gaze burned with the focused heat of a lens that had found its focal point, and I felt something in my chest respond, a harmonic that had nothing to do with the Shard and everything to do with being seen. "The killer is educated." He repeated the words like a prayer. "Desperate. Or both. And either way, they wanted it to look like you." I looked at Perrin one last time. At the reversed spirals. At the hunger that had dressed itself in my family's grief. "Then let's show them the difference."

"You're a lunatic, Victoria." I leaned against the window, watching the crowd pound on the glass. "But only lunatics are remembered, Agent." And this, all of this, was my masterpiece. The case exploded across the nation. Soon, the "Coma Killer" case was trending everywhere. [Former Art Prodigy Kills Ten: A Twisted Mind or a Deeper Conspiracy?] [Can a Person in a Coma Kill? Experts Weigh In on the Methods] The buzz on Twitter was hotter than the presidential election.

she gasped, her pulse thudding against the iron grip of his fingers. His eyes didn't just open; they ignited. The hazy, clouded look of the coma was gone, replaced by a cold, predatory focus. These weren't the eyes of the man who had held her in the bunker. They were flat. Dead. The eyes of the Butcher of Vane, the assassin who had earned his name in the blood-slicked alleys of the Lower Districts.

He tugged Ian along, who immediately started taking notes. “The press calls this killer the Mirror Wolf,” Zhedya explained. “Known for replacing victims’ eyes with reflective marbles. Also carving their initials into mirrors or glasses near the bodies.” Ian snapped a picture of the message scrawled on a nearby mirror: Mirror what you love. He studied the scene with a mix of fascination and horror. Zhedya watched him, admiration in his eyes as Ian scribbled furiously in his notepad. Then, Zhedya’s gaze sharpened, studying the killer’s method.

Hearing your thoughts and seeing what you can see… What's the difference? I did not reply. I merely showed her what the difference was. In front of Snowie's stunned gaze, I thrust my finger into my right eye and forcibly plucked my eyeball out. Of course, there would not be blood or gore. After all, my right eye was a prosthetic.

His hair looked like he'd been running his hands through it for hours. But it was his eyes that made me want to disappear. Cold. Dark. Empty of everything except rage. These weren't the eyes of the man I loved. The man I'd dreamed of claiming. These were the eyes of a killer. A glass of whiskey sat untouched on the table in front of him. He leaned forward. Elbows on his knees. Staring at me like I was something he'd scraped off his shoe. "We need to talk," he said. His voice was quiet. Controlled. Terrifying in its calmness.

His voice was cold as he spoke, yet there wasn’t a trace of malice, it was as though he were merely stating facts. “The only person who seems to be a different case is Miss Ashford, and that is…” he paused briefly before continuing, “And that is also because of your selfish desires, boss. Because you want her and cannot do without her. That is why she is different. I have met many people during my time as an FBI agent in the field, and I have learned how to recognize a killer by the look in their eyes. And your eyes, boss, they carry that look. All it takes is the right trigger to set you off… and it seems that trigger has already been pulled.”

His eyes remained dead, emotionless. As he sunk his teeth into my neck, aiming for the kill. Blood gushed out, warm and sticky. I lay there, consciousness fading. The rogue's eyes. Where had I seen them? Memories flooded back. The same eyes that haunted my nightmares. The same eyes that killed Naomi. Rage boiled within me. But my eyelids grew heavy. My heartbeat slowed. "His dead, King," echoed through my mind. And then, darkness. Everything went black. *KATHERINE POV*

This slender girl is toying with m,e and I’m fixated on her. Her skin is so white that she doesn’t even appear alive. She’s delicate in every feature but her startling blue-green eyes. Eyes stare at me. They are so beautiful, and they remain focused on one thing in the room, me. Looking into those enlarged water-colored eyes, it’s hard to believe that she’s killed ten people. I look into her eyes again, and I can see how much she enjoyed each kill. “They say you’re good," I say, approaching the dimly lit stairway, "they warned me that you are quiet and deadly."