Wrist Blades Novels & Stories

She hesitated. "Jemi you have to be open with me, I can't help if you're not" She dropped her wrist on the table between them. Folded her hoodie up to her arm. "Was only a few slices," she ran her finger through the raw wounds on her left wrist" "What did you use? " "The shaving blade" "It didn't touch a vein? " "Naaa. " she straightened the sleeve. Her hands back on her lap "I was careful" The woman dropped her jotting book. Removing her glasses and dropping them on the table. "What triggered that Jemi? "

"They paid me to kill the legendary Jason Wolfe." In a flash of pure speed, he yanked a second blade from his sleeve, slashing at Jason's ankles before a normal person could even register the movement. Jason moved like a ghost. He rolled over the hood of the Rolls-Royce in one fluid motion, the blade missing by millimeters. He landed silently, grabbing a crowbar from the workbench. The Wraith charged, and Jason swung. Metal met metal in a shower of sparks. The impact would have shattered normal human arms. Both fighters held firm.

Instead of calling him, she crossed her arms and continued to watch from the side. Wonwoo gripped a double-edge blade with his dominant hand. With the handle pointing away from his body, he grasped the tip of the knife so the tip of his thumb is one side of the blade while the tips of his fingers, except the pinky, are on the side; thereby pinching it without pressing against the sharpened edge.

No one present—not the three bewildered thugs, nor the whimpering leader, Blade—had clearly seen the move. Skylar Vance’s hand, small and delicate, looked utterly frail, yet it had crushed the muscle and bone of Blade’s thick forearm with casual ease. The sound of splintering bone was relentless, a horrifying, staccato crack-crack-crack that merged sickeningly with Blade’s uncontrollable, animalistic shrieks. Under the weak, sputtering light bulb, the scene was an absolute nightmare.

He squeezed her hand, then released it, stepping forward to lead the way. Darius handed out weapons as they prepared to descend. The blades were silver, with edges coated in a dark, oily substance. “Wolfsbane,” Darius explained. “It’s the only thing that will kill them. Don’t hesitate. If you see one, strike fast and don’t look back.”

"Most probably a weapon that can block weapons and attack at the same time. With her weak arms-" "Hey!" "- I suggest blades that are light. Something that she can swing easily. Twin swords would be nice but with crescent guards." Ace observed. Nate took Ace's words in. "How about hook swords? It has a guard, a blade, and with her terrible luck, she can simply use it to trip enemies." "You guys make it sound like I get into a lot of trouble." I complained. At that, both Ace and Nate gave me a look with their eyebrows raise. A look that say 'Are you really asking that question?' I pouted and shut my mouth since my opinion doesn't matter to them anyway!

I turned slowly, giving him a view of my ass, then faced him again, lowering myself until I was almost straddling his lap without quite touching. I thought he was paying attention. His eyes were on me. I smiled triumphantly and reached down, trying to grab his dick through his pants. Blade’s hand shot out and caught my wrist before I could touch him. He pushed me away firmly, not rough enough to hurt, but strong enough to make me stumble back a step. I cried out in shock and surprise. “Blade!” He looked at me with cold gray eyes. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

She gasped out in pain and soon I lost awareness of what I was doing. Camille's loud screams brought me back to reality and then I let go of her wrist which was pale white. She crawled away from me, gripping her wounded wrist. "What the hell, Blade!!!" "I'm sorry." I said, confused. "So what am I, Camille?" She rose up and washed her wrist under the tap and then injected herself with sowmthign before returning to the mat. "Am I a Vampire?" I asked, terrified. She laughed. "No, Blade. You're a wolf but not an ordinary one."

she said. He adjusted her grip from beside her — not from behind, not surrounding, but lateral, which kept her sightlines clear and her instinct to flinch from activating. He moved her index finger a centimeter along the grip and repositioned her thumb and the difference in the blade's balance was immediate. "Oh," she said, before she could stop it. "Yes," he said. He stepped back to his original position. "The weight distributes through the grip, not the wrist. When you hold it from the wrist you're fighting the blade instead of directing it."