Pretty Knife Novels & Stories

Then he walked to a cabinet in the corner of the living room and opened it. When he turned around, there was a delicate and beautiful knife in his hand. The knife was of national style. It was neither too big nor small, and it was bigger than an ordinary dagger. The scabbard was decorated with colorful diamonds and engraved with patterns, which made the knife look less frightening. But no matter how good-looking it was, it was just a knife. Xavier came back in a few steps and stood two steps away from Zena. "I can let her go."

It started with a blur, too fast and too close, the kind of shift in energy that makes your skin prickle before your mind even catches up. One second I was reaching for a second sleeper, still humming with leftover resonance, and the next there was a sound like ripping fabric and a sudden burst of movement behind me. I turned just in time to catch the glint of metal, a blade aimed straight at my head. The knife wasn’t ceremonial, ornate, or sharpened for show, just clean, narrow, and deadly, a weapon meant purely for killing.

The bullet shattered the mirror behind me. “I’m asking one last time. Who sent you?” I didn’t answer. I struck again. A different blade this time—coated in something special. The tip was laced with peanut butter oil, a tiny trick I was saving for Klaus. Word on the black market was he had a deadly allergy. Even a scratch could stop his heart. I aimed for his neck. The blade slid across the skin—not deep, but enough to deliver the toxin. He growled and threw me off, slamming me against the wall with a force that cracked my breath.

Putting my arm straight out from my body at full length, I showed her. "Lucia, please get a proper knife for self defense and show them how to hold it." She went into the kitchen and came back with a thin bladed boning knife. She crouched, holding the knife low and close to her body. "First of all, your selection of a butcher knife sucked. It's good for slicing meat, not so good for stabbing through a rib cage where the most lethal blows can be made. You must remember to hold a butcher knife sideways to go through the ribs, and you have enough to worry about without concerning yourself how you're holding a knife. A slimmer blade will penetrate the ribs easier regardless of how it's held. Lis

I hold the knife up to show her, “Silver. It hurts our kind.” I make a shallow cut on my palm as her wide night-colored eyes watch and I hiss as the blood bubbles where the silver has touched. It hurts like hell, like the bite of a swarm of fire ants. I hold up my sizzling palm for her to get a better look. “See,” I say through gritted teeth, “It works much better than the little knife you got there. You can have it.”

“The knife to kill Zach.” The knife was small, but it was heavy, like a sword. Nevea observed it. The knife was golden, and calligraphy adorned its body. She stroked it, and the blade gleamed. “It recognizes you.” Kiara pointed at the knife using her chin. “That’s the only weapon to kill Zach.” Nevea put the knife behind her and stared at Kiara. “You think I can kill Zach?” “You can. He will make you kill him. Don’t worry about that.”

It's a small steel knife. AUTHOR'S NOTE: Sorry, been a while. Who else loves knife play?

With a slight exertion of force, the knife snapped in half. Holding the broken knife, the woman stared at Kiran in shock at his strength. "Tell me who you people are, and I'll spare your life," Kiran said calmly, twirling the broken knife in his hand like a toy. The woman's expression shifted repeatedly as she stared at the knife, contemplating her next move against Kiran. "Don't bother thinking about it. You're not my match. Dealing with you is as easy as lifting a finger," Kiran said as if seeing through her thoughts. "Why did you provoke Kojin?" the woman asked coldly.

"On your knees, traitor." With my hands up, I slowly bent my knees, feeling the weight of the pocket knife strapped to my thighs. A few meters to the ground, I unstrapped the knife on my thighs with a threatening look as I said, "This knife is made of silver," I gritted, holding it out. "A little stab is all it takes, and poof... you're gone." "Let's try that again, shall we?" I said with fiery eyes. "Let. Me. Go."

The vengeance-creator is briefly overwhelmed by the wounded animal that wants to bite, right now, even if it means getting crushed. My eyes scan the semi-darkness. No weapon in sight. Volkov isn't stupid. But luxury is full of sharp objects. My gaze rests on the cold breakfast tray, brought and ignored earlier in the night. A butter knife. Not a weapon. A toy. A short, blunt blade with a wrought silver handle. It's laughable. It's perfect. It's the only sharp point in this universe of silk. I hold my breath. The rhythm of his breathing doesn't change. Slow, deep. Asleep.