The Twist Of A Knife の小説・ストーリー

He shouted from the other side. “What? why” “He got a knife,” he untied himself and ran for the terrace. “This can’t happen again,” I whispered, and ran behind before Ella did. “Don’t get near me. I won’t tell you about anything. I was compelled to,” he shouted and jumped from the terrace. I ran and couldn’t stop myself, nearly slipped and got hold of my hands on the edge. One look down, I am going to die. Someone got my hands, pulled me up.

I twisted the knife. The wolf was gone.

Brown eyes that seemed so light that they betrayed the darkness of the soul they were windows into. I was expecting to have my head snapped right away. I had stabbed him, after all and this beast was certainly not the forgiving type. Do it. Kill me. But his lips just spread into a smile and before I could recover from the shock of this man smiling with a knife inside of him, he twisted the knife deeper inside him. I gasped out loud. He didn't just push the knife deeper. He TWISTED it deeper. "Fuck, Astra..." He groaned, more like moaned, a hint of smile still on his face.

This is so, so wrong. Then, just when I think he’s finished, the cold steel leaves my neck, and I feel the blunt handle of the knife suddenly thrust inside me. My body jerks, and a sharp warning leaves his lips. “Careful, little deer. You kick, you’ll cut yourself.” His tongue flicks over my clit, unrelenting, as his hand twists the knife’s handle inside me. Each movement sends jolts of a twisted mix of pain and pleasure through my body, keeping me on edge. His free hand plays cruel games, the blade scratching lightly across my skin, my thighs and chest now marked with the same twisted care.

I let Nora take over. Ignoring the agony, I twisted with her, my body a whirlwind of motion. I grabbed her hand, twisting it with a sickening crunch. The knife, slick with my blood, slid from my side. With a final, furious motion, I plunged it into her heart. A choked scream erupted from her throat, blood splattering from her mouth.

He put it back immediately, it felt too comfortable. The second roll contained a set of crocodile shears, a lead sprinkler, and a tongue tearer. James swallowed and felt nausea overtake him. The third roll contained a single knife with a razor-sharp blade. It was beautifully engraved. The name came to him, Ling Chi, or better known as the knife used for the thousand cuts torture technique. Dave groaned and James turned around, he would not be caught unawares again. The fourth roll remained unopened on the table. James entered the cell and looked at Dave. Dave seemed confused and was looking around.

I sidestepped just in time, the blade missing me by inches. Before he could recover, I grabbed his wrist, twisting it sharply. A sharp crack sounded as he yelped in pain, his fingers loosening their hold. The knife slipped from his grasp, clattering against the concrete floor. His free hand lashed out, aiming for my face, but I ducked, using his own momentum against him. Twisting my body, I drove my knee into his stomach, knocking the wind out of him.

Everything twisted inside him. It wasn’t just fury—it was a sickness. A poison blooming in his veins, tightening his chest with every breath. His jaw clenched so hard he could feel it creak. The burn behind his eyes deepened. His vision pulsed. He grabbed Lowel’s wrist. Without a word, he lifted a knife and shoved it into Lowel’s hand, pinning it to the desk with a force that vibrated through the wood. A loud, agonizing wail ripped through Lowel’s throat, piercing the room like glass shattering.