Pretty Knife Novels & Stories

I cried. His lips attacked my neck ignoring what I had said, but I couldn't feel anything my whole body was just numb. If he were to kill me, now would be the best time to do so. "Get off me!" I shrieked as I tried moving my body. His hands pulled down my shorts as he pulls my hips down further towards him creating more tension on my wrist. I see him reach over and grab a large metal object, creating panic when I realize it's a knife.

“This is not happening.” “Oh, it’s happening,” Kylan said with a grin, crossing his arms. His tattoos shifted with the movement, drawing my unwilling attention. “And you should thank us. You looked like you could use a decent meal.” “I don’t need anything from you,” I snapped, my face heating as I realized I was still holding the knife. Kieran raised an eyebrow. “Planning to use that, or are you just trying to make a point?” I looked down at the knife in my hand and quickly shoved it back into my bag. “Shut up.”

I walked him through proper form, stance, and grip, emphasizing the importance of holding the knife correctly. “First, find a knife that fits you,” I explained. “Not every blade suits everyone. As a beginner, it’s best to practice with the same set until you improve. Look for something durable and balanced. And yes, some knives dull faster—avoid those. For now, a dull edge is safer, but you still want a sharp point for effectiveness.” I gestured to the training closet. “Try a few until you find one that feels right.”

He stops in front of the table. “Maybe.” He picks up the knife resting there. Small. Balanced. Sharp. Vera notices immediately. “What are you doing?” she asks. Kael doesn’t answer . He weighs the knife once in his hand, eyes never leaving her face . “You’re not going to move,” he says. “That’s not a question.” “No.” She doesn’t step back. Kael flicks his wrist. The knife flies. Fast. Precise. Vera moves without thinking. Her hand comes up and catches the blade inches from her face. Clean. Controlled. No hesitation.

He stuttered. "Huh?" I asked dumbfounded. "The sword....i- it's not a knife, it's a katana sword. They are very sharp and can be quite lethal. If you don't know how to hold it, you can get seriously hurt. I'm sorry miss, but if you don't hold a permit for it, I can not allow you to keep it."

I guess it comes in different forms. The pocketknife in Sally’s purse was an old Swiss Army issue, the kind with can openers and corkscrews and nail scissors attached. She still has it. We call it Freddy, like from the movies. The blades are notched so tight together if you try to pull one out and don’t do it tough, it’ll snap back and slice a finger before it locks straight. It’s possible Sally thought about taking the knife out, that night in the motel. Thought about risking a little blood. And it’s possible the thought got her contemplating carnage.

“I didn’t break a rib. I’m fine.” Chantal poked and felt around, and Gage swore soundly. “Hold still.” “You’re a sadist.” His jaw ticked as she felt along each rib. Happy with her examination, she rose and checked on their clothes. Her eyes fell on Gage’s sheathed knife, and Chantal reached out. “Careful! That blade is sharp. That’s a Ka-Bar.” “Isn’t that what SF soldiers use?” “Yes—It’s a U.S. Marine Corps Fighting Knife. Mine’s not a standard issue.”

I was starting to get my hunger for torture. It’d just been too long, that’s all. I’d forgotten the taste, and I went back to studying which weapon I wanted. I ran my finger down the length of the table, stopping at a lethal but compact knife. It had a selenite handle, which always made me smile about the irony of that type of crystal on a blade used for killing.

I have the knife from my belt just in case things go downhill. I have an idea about this 'mate' thing. It is also tonight when I'll finally get to be in action. Tonight, they will shift- and it will be so much fun. I inspected the knife carefully. It doesn't seem to be made of silver- and therefore, can be easily destroyed. It will not pierce their skin as well, but will wound them for a little bit. The knife was sharp and small- perfect for my hand. Though my clothes are not perfect for mobility, I can always improvise.

I gasp at the beauty of it, gingerly taking it out of his hands. “Leonel… what is…?” “It’s a pocket knife,” he states quickly. “I’ve been having it specially made these past three days. The knife may be small, but it’s ten times sharper than the average knife. One swipe of it will kill a man.” I flip out the knife, and while I don’t test his claim, I can instantly tell that it’s true. The knife is long and thin, glimmering unlike anything I’ve ever seen. Wait…