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

She laughed her usual fake laugh for the show and make her way towards me. She walked until there was considerate eight feet distance between us. She lifted her right hand and in the split second her hand emits a white light and soon that famous blade was right in her hand. “You still carry that accursed blade around with you?” my eyes never leaving the sight of it. I can easily feel the power surging from that blade. The blade was active. Very much alive. Breathing I must say.

She gave a faint, broken nod. “Show me,” he breathed. It was the last request she could have anticipated. Slowly, she drew the small, bone-handled knife from the sheath at her belt. She placed it in his open palm. His fingers closed around it. He didn’t look at it. He looked at her, and his eyes held the image of her on that floor, alone, with this blade as her only ally.

The blade gleamed as she prepared to bring it down. "Goodbye, Miranda."

"Get me a knife!" ​A sharp blade was pressed into my hand instantly, my men moved without needing thought. I sliced through the thick ropes binding her wrists and ankles with smooth, deliberate precision. The moment she was free, her small, limp body slumped forward. I caught her instantly, gathering her close against my chest, the protective instinct almost painful in its intensity.

She stood up, walking towards me with the knife out, and I could sense the worry coming from the crowd, especially my mate. “Goodbye, Valeria,” she said, her knife coming for my heart. But before it could pierce me, I held her hand. She used all her strength to push it down, and the dagger was inches away from my heart. I groaned, using one hand to hold her back.

A long, curved blade that glinted as her hand trembled from some manic grip of emotion. I froze. “Don’t.” I held my hand out. "Don't do it Theresa." I shook my head. Her head snapped toward me. Her eyes were wild. Bloodshot. Her mouth curled in something like a grin—but it was crooked, trembling. “You just had to come. I told her you would," her voice shook. She was very excited. “Natalia,” I said gently, eyes never leaving the blade. “Don’t move. I’m here now.”

Her tone was sad and depressed. A shiver ran down my spine. I closed the refrigerator and turned to look at her. Nancy was holding a fruit knife in her hand. She had the blade pressed to her arm. "Nancy, what are you doing!?" I cried. I slammed the fridge closed and rushed toward her. Nancy smirked and pulled the blade across her arm. I reached her and pulled the knife from her hand. A sliver of blood appeared on her skin. I held the knife far away from her.

It might have gone on longer, her victory secured, if not for the sudden shadow that fell over them. Blade. The tall, broad-shouldered inmate stepped in with a predator’s calm. Without a word, she grabbed Tania by the back of her shirt and yanked her off Sheila as if she weighed nothing. Then she shoved her to the ground, the impact rattling through Tania’s bones. “Deal with her. Kick her,” Blade said, her voice low but carrying enough authority to command obedience. “Go on, all of you.”

The blade appeared—sleek, glowing, alive in her hands. “BOOMERANG!” She flung it. FWWWWSSH! The blade spun through the air like death incarnate. THUNK! A head flew. SHNK! A guard fell in half. WHAM!—a leg here, an arm there. The blade carved carnage into the steps. Blood splattered, mixing with ash. Thud. Splat. Crack. She called the blade back. Whiiiiing—CLAP! It landed in her grip, humming.

She didn't even blink, she also didn't let me blink. She drove the blade into my protruding belly. She stabbed it over and over, my blood splashing onto her face. Her eyes were filled with so much fury, for a moment she had the face of a demon. I couldn't even feel the pain anymore, the only thing I could think of was what she told me years ago.