She matched her words with action, pressing the blade hard enough against Damen's throat to break the skin. With some effort, Damen managed to not so much as flinch, though the muscles in his thighs clenched tight and his eyes remained locked on hers.

He kept his breathing as slow as he could manage, not wanting to give her any sort of warning even as blood welled and spilled over.

And then he moved, tipping his head back away from the blades as he brought up both hands to her wrists, his grip nearly tight enough to render immobile. It was the only chance he had, he knew. His only means of possibly coming out of this alive as he pushed up to his feet, twisting Dutch's wrists sharply to both dislodge the knives and hear the satisfying crack of bone.