Undertaker Black Butler Eyes Novels & Stories

He was guarding it. While Gray stopped in her tracks, blankly thinking of her next plan, Undertaker’s loud and slow clapping that resounded throughout the room brought her back to reality. The four who were arguing just a moment ago also had their heads turned to him now. “Enough with the chit chat, kids,” said Undertaker as he tilted his head and glared at the four with impassive eyes. “We don’t want to get hurt, right?” Opposition to his caring words, his menacing tone sounded threatening. It was as if he was warning them about losing focus.

It looked like a fortress. Inside, the air smelled of leather and smoke. The butler, dressed in black, led us down a hallway with paintings that looked older than the country. My heels clicked against the marble floor, each step echoing in my chest. And then I saw him. Santino Blackwood. He stood near the fireplace, the flames lighting his face. He was taller than I imagined, his shoulders broad under a perfectly tailored black suit. His hair was dark, his jaw sharp, his cheekbones cutting. But it was his eyes that froze me. Cold. Stormy. Like they could see through my skin and into my bones.

Fighting. His skin has a grayish tint. His eyes are completely black. No whites. No iris. Just darkness. And his movements. They're jerky. Unnatural. Like a puppet being pulled by invisible strings. "No," I breathe. "What did she do to him?

His grip is a warning for me not to do anything stupid. As we head to the double doors, there’s this young vampire or old, should I say. He must be the butler here. He checks me out. He has a surprised look on his face. It seems we surprised him because of my eyes. For the first time, people who see my eyes have this surprised and curious look, like if their mind is playing some trick.

Instead, she finds a face that is striking in an entirely different way. Sharp cheekbones, strong jaw, tousled black locks that conceal one eye. But the part in his hair reveals his right eye, and it is this sight, the eye that they said would be like looking into death itself, those same eyes that had prompted Alcina’s gasp most of all. His eyes are unfathomably dark, indeed - like an endless, black pit, glittering not with mirth or joy but power. His features, hacked into marble, devoid entirely of any imperfections or even creases - as if he has lived his entire life, without once expressing a single expression on that impassive face. As if he has lived his entire life, without having onc

I looked at the person who threw the punch from my position on the floor. I was seated with tears staining my cheeks looking at him wide-eyed. His silhouette was lit up and dimmed by the disco lights consecutively. From what I could see, he had black hair which was highlighted by the lights, curtains with an undercut, so black like a midnight sky, and the most beautiful bright blue eyes like a clear summer sky reflecting on an azure sapphire stone, smooth toned skin, the rest was covered by a black mask. His eyes were so meticulous, like a painting by an old master.

Some time later, heavy footsteps echoed against the concrete floor. A tall, well-built man stepped in. A jagged scar stretched from his left eye to the corner of his right lip, twisting his already sinister expression into something downright terrifying. Though his frame was lean, every movement he made carried the weight of someone who had broken more bones than one could count. This was Hunter, the right-hand man of the Black Vipers. Whose name sent chills through the underworld. Even Vince, who had been calm all along, unconsciously straightened his back when Hunter’s gaze swept over him.

Confused, I turn around to see who it was. The man is tall, dressed in all black. He’s handsome, with the cold defined air of an aristocrat around him. He has long hair and dark eyes that I think are green or blue. The scars on his face scream that he is no ordinary person. His eyes fall on me first. Goosebumps cover my skin and I take a subconscious step back. His eyes are dead. Colder than any gaze I’ve ever seen. They’re the eyes of someone who has seen death, looked it in the eye and came back alive.

"That's impossible Alpha, My father was a werewolf not an Hybrid." "Cali, you glow in your sleep and sometimes you chant spells. And when you wake up the following morning, you have no idea of the previous night." I stared at him in disbelief. He motioned for Gamma Lou and he withdrew from the door. He pulled out a phone from his pocket and handed it over to me. There was a video on the screen. I hit play and the video started. I was the one in the video sleeping but my mouth was moving, my body was also levitating and I was glowing. My body was glowing this bright blue colour, brighter than my eyes and towards the end of the video fire started going off in the room but nothing was burning.

She turned slightly. Put her hand against his jaw. The cut had healed. Just a faint line now, barely visible, already becoming part of his face’s history. She looked at him. At the dark eyes with something in them that was grief and gratitude simultaneously, the specific combination she’d learned was what it looked like when Ryder Holt felt something he hadn’t prepared for. “You gave him that,” she said quietly. “The resolution he believed in.” He looked at her. “We,” he said. She shook her head. “You. I helped at the edges.”