There She Was With The Blade In Her Hand Novels & Stories

“Then kill me. I would rather die than betray my blood.” The stubborn bitch. I leaned closer, close enough for her to see the fury in my eyes. “I did not want to do this. But you leave me no choice.” From the box, I drew a blade, small but sharp, its edge catching the faint glow. Her eyes followed it, widening in horror. She shook her head, defiant even as fear seeped into her voice. “You wouldn’t…” But I would. And I did. With swift precision, I grabbed her hand, pressing it flat against the stone. She struggled, screamed, cursed me in every tongue she knew, but I was stronger. The blade pressed, sliced...

However, Xavier had already raised the cleaver. Without hesitation, he brought it down on Lucas’s right leg. “Ah!” I screamed, my voice sharp with terror. I could only watch as the blade sliced through Lucas’s flesh, cutting straight through bone. Blood splattered everywhere. The pain was too much. He didn’t even have time to cry out before his small body went limp. He passed out instantly. I stared in shock, frozen, my heart feeling as if it had been slashed open, the agony spreading through every inch of my body.

She looks up at me as I come in. “So you’re his new fuck toy.” As she rises to her feet, a renewed sense of dread grips my chest. She moves like a snake, her eyes narrow and filled with hate. “You think you can just come in here and steal him from me? Well, you’ve got another think coming, bitch.” I back away, but my legs are barely working, and when I see the blade in her hand, fear grips me with such force that I want to throw up. She brandishes it – a butterfly knife, spinning it in her hand like a child’s toy, each click sending a jolt of dread up my spine. She shakes her head as she advances on me. “Sorry, but you chose the wrong man, slut. And now you have to die.”

I swiped the nearest blade, sending it flying towards her direction. Swiftly, she arched her body backwards, using the countertop as a wedge. Another one came flying. This time, she hopped on to the counter, catching the blade with her hand before landing in a cat stance. Her gaze was piercing, visibly annoyed at my foul move. A drop of crimson red fell on the countertop. Her eyes squeezed tightly together in pain. The other blade had dropped to the floor right beside her. “Finally got your attention,” I hissed.

The sharp, polished blade caught the dim flashlight beam, glinting dangerously in the shadows. Before I could even scream or pull my hand away, she brought the weapon crashing down with a brutal, heavy force. The razor-sharp steel sliced cleanly through the center of my palm, driving deep into the soft flesh and pinning my hand flat against the ancient wood of the table like she was driving a nail into a wooden board.

Each stab avoided my critical organs. I begged him to let me go, but he said, "Didn't you say you would always be with me, my darling?" I tried to flee when he went to the bathroom, but he caught me. He forced me to the balcony while brandishing his knife; I left a vivid trail of blood from the living room to the balcony. Underneath the moonlight, he stared at my right hand like a starved beast. Ultimately, he swung the blade at me, stabbing me in the heart. Then, he shoved me off the balcony of our apartment, which was on the 20th floor.

My heart started to thump harder, but I didn’t move. “You walk around this house like you belong,” she continued. “Touching him like he’s yours. Whispering to him like you know him.” “I do know him,” I said. “Not like I do.” Then she stepped forward and raised the blade—not fast, not wild. Controlled. Intentional. She wasn’t bluffing. I barely had time to think. Her arm moved, and I reached out, instinctively grabbing the blade to stop it from touching my skin.

Not silver—black, obsidian, carved with symbols that seemed to drink the light. "The Shepherd's blade," she said. "She gave it to me before she died. As a promise." "A promise of what?" "That you would be the one to end me. Or I you." I drew my own blade. Simple steel. Dax's gift. "Then let's end it." --- She attacked. Not like the Breaker—wild, strong. The Arbiter was precise. Every strike calculated. Every movement efficient. I blocked. Dodged. Countered. She was faster than I expected.

The knife clattered from her fingers onto the stone floor. She took a stumbling step backward, then another, her hand coming up to press against the fatal wound. Then her legs buckled, and she collapsed onto the cellar floor, her eyes staring, unseeing, at the ceiling. Standing behind where she had been was the elderly caretaker. In her hand, she held a long, thin stiletto blade, dark with Riri’s blood. Her face was calm, utterly devoid of emotion, as she watched the life drain from the Beta’s eyes.

“We need to focus on the immediate problem.” The silver-haired woman stalked forward, her expression unreadable. Before I could react, she grabbed my hand in a vise-like grip and unsheathed a small blade. “Wait, what are you—” The blade sliced across my palm, the sharp sting making me gasp. Blood welled up immediately, dark and glistening, dripping onto the floor in soft, rhythmic splashes. “Stop!” I choked out, my voice trembling. I tried to pull my hand back, but her grip was iron. “What are you doing?”