Bloody Knife Drawing Novels & Stories

As we faced each other, he reached into my holster, drawing my blade—the one adorned with the Capone emblem. The blade's polished steel catching the ambient light in the room. The Capone emblem gleamed, a symbol of our family's legacy etched onto the hilt. Dad extended the knife toward me, handle-first, a silent invitation to partake in the blood pact. Our eyes locked, understanding passing between us. Without uttering a word, I took the blade from his hand. I pressed its sharp edge against the palm of my hand. The small bead of blood welled up on my palm from the shallow cut. My gaze remained fixed on the droplet, symbolizing the gravity of our commitment. Dad mirrored my actions, slicing h

She looked down at them, and her heart stopped. Her hands were covered in bright, red blood. It was sticky and warm, staining her skin and under her fingernails. Her eyes traveled up her arms to her yellow dress. The front of it was soaked in a huge, jagged red blossom of blood. Then, she felt the weight in her right hand. She was holding a long, silver knife. The blade was dripping, the red liquid pooling on the carpet beneath her. Aubrey’s eyes went wide. She scrambled backward, dropping the knife. It hit the floor with a metallic clang.

“You watch too much N*****x, bro.” Lennon didn’t bother responding. He tried shutting them all out and focusing on the paper in his lap. Slowly, his hand started moving. He sketched the dagger first, then the beads that wrapped it like they were trying to strangle the blade, then the scars that sliced clean through a rose like they’d been earned in fire. Page after page, he drew everything he could see. Damian continued teaching like he hadn’t just turned the entire room into a collective thirst trap.

Even though I knew I should use the knife, I was so frightened. Soon I regained my courage when I saw mom's feet hitting the bed under his weight in exasperation. She was dying. Shutting my eyes and holding my breath, I moved closer to his body and slashed his back with the knife, with all of my strength. I tried to stab a second time, but the knife was buried deep into his back. Blood splashed onto my chest and there, on the small of his neck was the sign. The Blue Wolf sign. I gasped.

He said. I froze as my brain processed what he'd just said. I'd been here for more than a week. How did he know I could survive without blood for so long? He walked with the girl and I kept begging him. All he did was laugh. He stopped when the girl was right in front of me. I could reach her. Then he drew out a knife. It had the design of a fang but in the middle of the fang was a small broom. Then he cut the girl's neck. He cut it so that she would bleed but she wouldn't die.

I added. As I was speaking, Alpha Felix took up a large, ornamental knife from the wooden platform. It had a wickedly sharp blade, which glinted in the sparkling light flowing between us. It flashed like a blaze of fire, and I felt honour and glory radiate through me at the sight of it. Its handle was curved, with delicate carvings of wolves, mountains, and the sea worked into it. “And so it shall be,” murmured Luna Carla. Then, Alpha Felix stepped forwards.

never. Falling down to my knees, I sniffed up and wiped the last teardrop away from my eyes, before shifting my gaze back to the bloody knife in the corner. Shifting my burning gaze to the knife, I let out a scoff as his words rang into my head, before bringing the knife close to me. Bringing the knife back to me, I held it firmly on my hand and wiped the blood away from the edges. "I...I... would cover it with...with...the blood of someone else..."

Then fury flared. I grabbed the knife. His eyes widened in pain. I pushed the blade deeper. Twisting it. I kept my eyes locked on his as I licked his warm, crying blood from my lips. His scream ripped out of him, raw and animal, echoing off the walls as his back arched violently. Blood poured from his mouth now, soaking his chin, his chest, the floor beneath him. His hands clawed uselessly at the stone like he could anchor himself to life through sheer willpower.

Let alone, not give me the answers I needed. I watched the satiating sight of the Red, the crimson liquid that popped out of his throat and out of his mouth in an enormous amount, as he choked on his stinky blood with my left foot still hung in midair with the knife from its tip, buried deeply into the spot just above his collarbone while the other foot remained solidly and elegantly standing and rooted to the ground, leisurely.

They think they’re safe. I draw two throwing knives from the holster strapped to my thigh. My breathing slows, chest still. One heartbeat. Two. I flick my wrist. Both blades slice through the dim light. One slams into a throat, the other into a chest. The sound is wet, and immediate. One stumbles backward, gagging, clawing at his neck. The other collapses forward, clutching the hilt buried deep in his sternum. I stride forward, finish the one still gasping with a swift twist of steel, and drag both bodies into the shadows.