Bard Parker Blade Novels & Stories

“Keep lying to yourself.” I hum, reaching into my coat pocket. My fingers close around the blade I always carry. “And that's the reason you kidnapped him from his home?” I pull the blade out, staring at the sharp edges. “I'm giving you one last chance before I pull your goddamned insides out.” His breath catches. The color drains from his face when I swipe the blade in the air. It's not the kind of blade that cuts, it peels. It's thin, sharp, surgical. Thinking about the amazing things I'll do with this blade makes my lips curl into a small smile.

I took a sip from my cup again. “Drink up. You shouldn’t do it with your clear mind. If you are a good girl, I might even find you a third cock to fuck your mouth or your butt hole.” He offered. He took another cup from the bartender and downed it in one gulp. His eyes closed briefly before he shook his head and continued. “What are you giving him?” I asked the bartender, already noticing that Blade was halfway to being drunk. “Everclear, ma’am.” The bartender whispered. “He asked me to give you the strongest drink we have.”

"So, if there's any grudge, settle it with them. Please don't involve us!" They desperately tried to distance themselves from Prospera Corporation. Before they could finish, Blade casually drew a dagger from his waist and slit an old man's throat. Blood gushed out as life fled his body. "Fuck it! I'm killing you old bastards! Do you think I didn't see what happened earlier? Bunch of turncoats! If Frederick and everyone else find you annoying, so do I!" Blade then declared impatiently, "If none of you have any connections with the company, you can all die!"

His hands, concealed behind him, casually brush against the handles of his trusty firearms, snugly nestled in the back holster. But that isn't all, for he's also armed with a retractable batten and a hunter's knife, ready to strike at a moment's notice. He came here packing, ready to take on every mother fucker that has the balls to cross me and surprisingly, Blake has been the only one to do so. I drag Blake into the middle of the dance floor. The thick scent of curiosity hangs in the air as everyone starts to circle us. Some smile while others stare at one another with their brows raised before their attention returns to us.

I stood outside, under the harsh sun for about three minutes before I broke the lock of the door in annoyance and walked in. The first thing I did was to chug down a beer and then get an ice bag to help my sore ankles. Munching a bundle of crunchy biscuits, I waited patiently for Blade who still hadn’t replied my message. After consuming six bottles of beer and countless snacks, I watched a black sedan drive in and park in the coffee shop’s driveway. Blade came out with his usual all black clothing—a big black sweatshirt, a black baggy jean, black glasses, black face cap, black sneakers— and a revolver carefully tucked by his side.

As I weave through the chaos, my eyes catch a familiar face—Blade. Blade had been the Gamma when I was Beta of the Black Moon Pack. Together, we had helped Zane become an Alpha who was both feared and respected, shaping the pack into a force to be reckoned with. Seeing him now, standing in the middle of the battlefield, brings a surge of anger to my chest, a fiery rage that threatens to consume me. “Blade,” I growl, my voice dripping with fury as I push my way towards him. “You’ve got a lot of nerve showing your face here after everything you’ve done.”

He smiled while they screamed and thrashed in agony, a glint in his eyes. Blake didn’t give up and continued the torture for hours while the few warriors that joined us kept running out to bring coffee and food. If torture were an art, Blake was an exceptionally creative artist. I had never even thought to imagine all the different ways a body could be disfigured. And as if he was a professor, Blake patiently lectured us on the benefits of each knife he was using. He showed off his clip point—good for quick, deep puncture and withdrawal. Then his drop point—good for skinning. Finally, his needlepoint—perfect for thrusting. All things I'd have been perfectly content never knowing.

He remembered the conversation just like yesterday and grinned softly. "Soren, this alpha of the Silver Moon pack, Brenden and his trusty female warrior, Laura." His father introduced the two strangers in front of Blaze, Georgia and his mom. "Hey, my name is Soren and this is my daughter Georgia and my son Blaze." His mother said. "Hello alpha Brenden and warrior Laura." Georgia yelped while Blaze stayed quiet, he was a cold kid. "Hey gorgeous and future alpha." Alpha Brenden said and Blaze scoffed.

Shylah approached and lifted Black Blade's shirt. Howard's gaze fell on the chest, where a dark palm imprint stood out against the skin, the area around it a sinister shade of red. "Hm?" Howard's eyebrows knitted together at the sight. "Sir, can you make out what this is—" Shylah turned to Howard. "The Ink Demon Palm," Howard interrupted her with a heavy tone. "What!?" Shylah gasped. "Sir, are you saying that Black Blade was attacked by the Dark Shady Cartel?"

i cursed under my breath. The next thing I saw was one of the blade flying towards me with a chain attached to its handle.Then time slowed to a snails pace. While the blade was flying towards me at slow motion i took some seconds to acess the blade.The blade was pure black in colour and it had uneven edges with the middle part of the blade having some indiscernible inscriptions sparkling orange color sparks.The chains on the handle of the blade seem to be connected to his wrist like Spiderman's web.And i don't know how he did that.I side stepped the blade only to find the other flying towards where i was.It was at this point that i knew that it wasn't just some child's play.This guy was real