Broken Blade Book Novels & Stories

Chapter Twenty-Three The Fracture Sebastian’s POV The door clicked shut behind her, and for the first time in years, I felt hollow. Leila’s voice still echoed in the room until then. A promise, a curse, a blade tucked neatly between my ribs. Blake stood across from me, chest heaving, his lip split, blood trailing the curve of his chin. He looked like a man who’d just watched his world slip from his grasp. We were both stripped bare in that silence, but Blake was the first to break it.

Lira (POV) The final bolt doesn’t give with a whisper or a pop. It gives way with a scream — raw, broken, like something dying for the second time. The shard wrenches in my grip as the hinge tears loose, snapping viciously and driving the makeshift blade straight through the meat of my fucking palm. It sinks clean and cruel, lodging deep against bone like it belongs there.

A second strike followed instantly and it kept coming and coming as steel flashed repeatedly. The blade finally made a shallow cut across my shoulders. Pain burned through the cut. It was time to end this. A growl left my throat, Brook pleading to have a taste of blood. My claws lengthened, muscles expanded, fangs protruding. I shifted, but not fully. The mercenary took a step backward as the ground cracked beneath his feet. I caught his sword, snapping the blade in half. Smoke hissed through the air as silver burned my skin. I threw the broken blades effortlessly.

The blade tilted toward Zara. I stepped in front of her without thinking. “Don’t,” I snarled. Voss’s lips curved. “Fascinating. It recognizes hierarchy already.” The blade lunged. It didn’t aim for my heart. It went for my bond. Pain exploded through me, white, searing, intimate. The blade skimmed my chest, carving a sigil into my skin that burned straight through flesh and into spirit. I hit the floor hard, the world shattering into sparks and echoes.

Pathetic. I raise my arms, blade poised high, cold steel gleaming beneath the flickering light. I scream as I drive the blade deep into his chest, feeling it slice through flesh, muscle, and bone. I feel the brittle snap of our withered bond breaking inside me like a dry twig, echoing in my ribs. I press the blade in harder, snarling into his wild, panicked eyes, forcing him to relive every pathetic moment of his pitiful life as it bleeds out of him.

Before Rio could deal with a deathly blow he saw the reality around him was breaking apart when he saw his right hand was obliterated out of existence. He looked back to see one of the blades exploding in a flash of violent yet beautiful light as the blade was released from its seals, it destroyed everything in its wake wiping what was left of the crystal chamber from existence. The Blade destroyed the stone, and spirit in the wake of its rage as it answered the call of its only master as it flew into the rubble destroying the stone that enveloped him.

Every beat of silence in the room carried a promise: This doesn’t end quickly. I passed him. Didn’t flinch when I got close. Didn’t wait for permission. He didn’t offer any. My hand reached for the blade, The smallest one. Delicate. Precise. Surgical. I balanced it in my palm. Felt the cold hum of it settle in my bones. Then I turned to the man who broke me. Who shattered something no grief would ever fully mend. And I said… “I’ll do it.” For a moment. Just one breath. Milo’s face changed.

The familiar weight settled into his grip like an old companion. For a moment he stood perfectly still, letting the quiet settle around him. Then he began. The blade moved through the air in slow, controlled arcs. Steel cut through the morning mist. Again. Again. Again. Each motion was deliberate. Measured. His breathing fell naturally into rhythm with the movement of the sword. Training had always been the only place where Adrian’s mind truly quieted. The past faded. The memories of the borderlands, the hunts, the bloodshed—they all blurred into the background.

He was the wealthy, arrogant playboy girls would swoon around, and also the Blade family's eldest son. "Ezekiel?” A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “Ezekiel Blade,” he said. "Why are you without your glasses, freckle face?” He always mentioned his last name like he was nothing without it. But I knew that he loved the name so much as it meant people would fear him. I rolled my eyes, pulling my hand away from his grip. “Still a bully, huh? Besides, I don't wear glasses anymore, and I'm definitely not freckle face. It's Lydia Winters,” I said, mimicking his words.

The silver blade gleamed in the dim light. I swallowed hard. “You know,” Ambrose mused, stepping closer, “pain is an interesting thing. There’s only so much a person can take before they break. But the trick is knowing where to apply it.” He reached down and grabbed my hand. Before I could yank it away, he forced my fingers apart. “Ever broken a finger, Ruby?” he asked conversationally. Cold fear rushed through me. Gabriel snorted from the side. “Jesus, man.” “Shut up, Gabriel.” Ambrose barely spared him a glance. “She’s not afraid of burns. She’s endured them before. But broken bones?” He traced the tip of the knife over my knuckles. “That’s different.”