Wrist Blades Novels & Stories

He had two knives in his hands now and before Slither could even blink, Jake stabbed each knife into his shoulders. “Any last words, Slither?” “Who the fuck are you?” Slither asked him with a grimace. “Wrath.” Jake pulled the knives from his shoulders and turned the blades, swiping them across Slither’s throat. Blood sprayed over Jake’s face, and when he turned around, his eyes looked lifeless. He walked past Weasel, back in the direction of where they left the van, and Weasel jogged to catch up with him. Neither man said a word and Jake climbed into the back of the van, leaned against the doorframe and closed his eyes.

The fabric is thick, expensive, resistant beneath the blades, and I lean into the motion with the confidence of someone who’s done this a thousand times. Halfway through the cut, something shifts. A tiny give in the metal. A wrongness. The blades twist strangely in my hand, catching against the wool instead of gliding through it, and before my mind understands what’s happened, my body reacts. Automatically, I grip harder, lean down harder. The shears snap sideways. Pain flashes white through my left wrist, and for one stunned second, I simply blink down at the cutting table. Then the blood comes. Fast. Too fast.

I angled my wrist and produce the silver blade that I had stolen from the man when I had knocked him over. “Drew, I need you to kill me.”

He was the wealthy, arrogant playboy girls would swoon around, and also the Blade family's eldest son. "Ezekiel?” A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “Ezekiel Blade,” he said. "Why are you without your glasses, freckle face?” He always mentioned his last name like he was nothing without it. But I knew that he loved the name so much as it meant people would fear him. I rolled my eyes, pulling my hand away from his grip. “Still a bully, huh? Besides, I don't wear glasses anymore, and I'm definitely not freckle face. It's Lydia Winters,” I said, mimicking his words.

While I talked, my hand smoothly slid into my bra, fingers wrapping tight around the small foldable knife I kept hidden there. “I didn’t send shit to you,” he snapped. But his voice… it sounded way too fucking familiar. “I don’t want to hurt you, so back the fuck off.” I smirked in the dark. “Too late for that, nigga.” In one quick move, I twisted his wrist hard, slipped free, and slashed my blade across his left wrist. Hot blood spilled out. He grunted in pain but held that scream back like a G. I spun around fast, knife gripped tight. He had on a full black mask, cold eyes staring at me through the slits.

With a single grab and twist, he dislocated Dwayne's wrist and rendered him helpless. Everyone only saw a blur before the butterfly knife changed hands. They thought Elio had been stabbed, but now he had the weapon. How? They were stunned. What happened? "You're too weak to be playing with a knife like this,” Elio said disdainfully. With a flick of his wrist, he tossed up the knife’s twin handles. The blade flashed like a silver butterfly flapping its wings, making a metallic clattering sound. It was dazzling and dangerous. Black cloth flew everywhere. Dwayne’s vest was reduced to shreds, flying everywhere like a flock of black butterflies flying everywhere. Every cut slid past his flesh, se

The knife-wielder sneered and lunged first. Instinct took over. I sidestepped, grabbed his wrist mid-swing, and twisted hard. The blade clattered onto the pavement. My boot slammed into his ribs, sent him sprawling with a howl. I could’ve ended him right there, knife in the throat, one quick slice but I didn’t. I kicked the blade across the asphalt instead.

I give ground, blade snapping up to catch a strike, then another — metal jolting in my grip as sparks spit between us. “Cut that mutt!" A body crashes into me from behind. I stagger forward just as claws rake across my upper arm. Cloth tears open. Warm blood spills down my skin. “Fucker bleeds!” Boots pound around me. Too close. Too many. A shoulder slams into my ribs. Air punches out of my lungs. Someone grabs for my wrist — I wrench free — steel shrieking as another blade skids along mine. A fist glances off my jaw. White flashes across my vision.

The mask had fallen. “Well.” Her voice changed too. Became layered with something that wasn’t quite human. “That’s unfortunate. I was hoping to make this quick and painless.” She yanked her wrist free from my grip with strength that no normal wolf should have. Her other hand came up, and I saw something gleaming in her palm. A dagger. Small and silver, with symbols carved into the blade that made my eyes hurt to look at. A Void-blade. Designed specifically to kill Keepers.

"You brat, don't be so happy about this yet. Take another strike from me if you dare!" As soon as he finished saying that, one of his apprentices instinctively threw him a saber. In Brian's hand, the saber glinted with a sharp, silver light. "Thirteen Blades of Vortex—" "It's my turn!" Woody cut Brian off. Since he was disappointed with Brian's earlier attack, he naturally didn't want to give Brian another shot at attacking. As Woody moved, his fist aimed straight at Brian's vital point. Brian in turn excitedly wielded the saber, creating an impenetrable shield.