Novelas y relatos de There She Was With The Blade In Her Hand

She gasped, her body tense, unable to process how she had gotten here or how this moment had taken over. What the hell was happening? Her other hand clenched something sharp. The handle, wrapped in cloth, was soaked through and stained red. It was a jagged blade made of either metal or glass. The edges were biting into her palm as she pressed it against something soft. Something pulsing.

I slow— just slightly— because this— this feels different. Not a system. Not a trap. Something else. “Don’t come closer,” she says again. Stronger this time. But still shaking. I see her now. At the far end. Standing. Barely. One hand pressed against the wall. The other— holding something. Metal. Sharp. A blade. My steps stop instantly. “Maria.” “Stay there.” Her voice cracks. But the blade doesn’t move. Doesn’t shake. “That’s not for me,” I say.

I could understand her frustration after having a broken limb, but the fact that she had to do all of this proved just how insane she truly was. I took a deep breath, struggling to stay standing without the crutch that was her two followers. Rebecca and I were face-to-face, where I could see the mix of excitement and anger behind her eyes. She took up the hand she was hiding, revealing an iridescent silver blade to the edge of my face. The cool metal softly pierced the skin of my jaw, forcing my breath to quicken.

My feet stilled. It was him. He lay on the ground. I could feel his pulse under my skin. He was still alive, but he looked like he had gone through hell. “No,” I whispered. She reached beside her and picked up a knife—the blade thin and pale, like bone carved sharp. “Let him go,” I said, voice shaking. I raised a knife I didn’t remember holding, the handle slick and warm in my grip. “Step away from him.” She rose, movements graceful in a way her ragged clothing wasn’t.

She held Kael’s Hush-Blade in her hand. ​"I didn't run," she whispered, a grim smile on her face. "I hitched a ride."

she says simply, offering the cloth-wrapped object. I take it warily. Inside is a sharpened blade. Not the usual kitchen tool. This one is different. Old. Weighted. Meant for defense, not dinner. My eyes fly to hers, but she only nods. “They’ll never stop,” she whispers, her voice thick with something like sorrow. “Unless you give them a reason to.” And then she’s gone. I shut the door slowly and turn back toward the bed. The blade feels foreign in my hands. Heavy. Unfamiliar. But also right.

She leaves her other hand now hanging useless by her side. I'm on my feet and across the room, gripping the blade I have in each of her hands and slamming them into the wall, pinning them into place. "No, no, no," she sobs, "plea-" her words cut off as I rip the blade from her shoulder. "What the fuck did you do to her?" I wipe the blade off on her cheeks, leaving fresh cuts in their wake. "Nothing." She shakes her head violently, swallowing roughly as I move the blade under her jaw. "I… fuck... FUCK. OK. There was a job I heard about while on contract…"

she whispered, and then, with one swift, strong pull, she removed the blade. Luca screamed, his back arching as pain ripped through him. Blood surged from the wound, warm and relentless, soaking her hands as she pressed down, trying to stem the flow. Her palms were slick with his blood, but she pressed on, refusing to let him slip away. She closed her eyes, summoning whatever power lay within her, praying that the magic she had relied on before would come to her aid once more.

She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, her eyes turning a cold, brilliant purple. "Fine," she spat. She lunged at me. This time she did not fall. This time the wood of her blade hit mine with a lot of force and sparks went flying. She was not just defending herself, she was really attacking me. Every time she swung her blade it was like she was screaming out of frustration, with the men who could not make up their minds about her. The men who could not decide if they wanted to love the woman or hurt her badly. From the edge of the clearing, I saw Kai’s jaw lock. He watched us, his fists white-knuckled, the rose from the door still tucked into his belt like a ticking bomb.

she responded, encroaching into my private space as I backed away. “I will not let you ruin what I have worked for all this time,” she cried. Her hands moved so swiftly, one minute she was standing as tears trickled down her face, and the next she was holding up a shiny blade that glistened under the overhead light. “What are you doing?!” I shouted, wide-eyed. “I’m doing what needs to be done to keep what’s mine,” she said through gritted teeth. “Don’t do this!” I screamed. She ran the blade through her wrists. I stood there frozen in horror as the blood ran down her wrist onto the Peruvian imported carpet.