SMOKE AND METAL

Nova Quinn

There’s something almost romantic about routine.

Not the mushy kind. Not flowers and soft jazz. I’m talking the kind of romance that lives in sweat-stained work shirts, calloused hands, and the smell of gasoline. Predictable. Dirty. Safe.

That was my life. And I liked it that way.

Wake up. Try not to think about the dreams. Tie back my curls. Pull on jeans, tank, boots. Open the garage by 7. Drown in engines and exhaust until my mind went quiet.

And most importantly? Keep my head down.

Don’t stand out.

Don’t ask questions about the way my skin sometimes glowed in the dark or why I hadn’t shifted like the rest of the pack kids by the time I hit puberty.

Just be normal. Invisible.

Untouchable.

But that morning, even before I opened the bay doors, I knew something was off.

It wasn’t the sky — it was bright and blank as always. It wasn’t the heat — though the southern summer was in full, suffocating swing. It was the air.

Heavy. Still. Watching.

I shook it off and shoved the door open. Sunlight spilled across the oil-streaked concrete floor. My sanctuary.

An ‘06 Chevy Silverado sat half-dismantled in Bay 2, stubborn as hell, just like its owner. I rolled my eyes at the Post-it note Travis had left on the hood.

“Rear suspension still grinding. Give it hell.”

I smirked. “With pleasure.”

Two hours in, my body was dripping sweat, and my temper hovered dangerously close to the edge. The rotor wouldn’t budge. My shirt clung to me like a second skin, and my fingers slipped on the wrench.

I let out a sharp growl and slammed the tool down.

“You fightin’ that truck or marryin’ it?” Travis leaned in the doorway with his usual smug smirk and a coffee I knew damn well wasn’t for me.

“Depends. She puts out more than I do.”

Travis choked on his drink.

I wiped my hands on a rag and glanced at my reflection in the side mirror — grease on my cheek, sweat along my collarbone, and a wild glint in my hazel eyes. The heat that had followed me for weeks now pulsed just under my skin again.

I pressed a hand to my chest.

Thump-thump. Thump.

My heartbeat staggered. Like something shifted in the rhythm.

“You okay?” Travis’s tone sharpened.

I started to nod — and froze.

The wrench on the floor was rattling.

Only a little. Barely a tremble.

But there was no breeze.

Just heat. And pressure.

Like the world was holding its breath.

The front bell jingled.

And just like that, everything snapped.

Two men stepped into the garage.

The first was tall, lean, built like a soldier — watchful eyes, calm stance. But my gaze barely brushed over him before it caught on the one behind him.

And stayed there.

The air changed the second he stepped into it.

Massive. Quiet. Dangerous.

His presence filled the room like smoke from a wildfire — slow and suffocating. His chest rose and fell in measured breaths. His skin was smooth and dark like scorched copper, stretched tight over muscle and power. A black tattoo coiled around his neck, feathers or wings inked in clean, sharp lines.

And his eyes…

Gods, his eyes were a funeral and a promise.

They hit me like a punch to the chest.

I staggered.

Heat flooded my limbs. My knees nearly buckled.

My fingers clenched around the rag like it could anchor me.

The world around me blurred. But him? He was crystal clear.

Every sound faded.

Every thought vanished.

Every cell in my body knew.

Mate.

Mate.

Mate.

Mate.

The bond slammed into me like lightning. I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t speak.

He just stood there. Watching.

Expression unreadable.

Lips parted.

Breath stalled.

And then — like I was nothing —

“No.”

The word hit me harder than the bond did.

Cold. Flat. Like a slammed door to the face.

My heart stuttered. My breath caught.

“No?” I echoed, voice low, cracking. “That’s it?”

His jaw flexed. His gaze narrowed.

“You’re sure it’s her?” the scout asked, eyes flicking between us.

Kael — I didn’t know how I knew his name, but I did — nodded once.

“The bond hit. But she’s wrong.”

That snapped me out of it.

“I’m sorry, what?” I stepped forward, fists clenched. “You come into my garage, look at me like you’ve seen the damn moon fall out of the sky, and then decide I’m what? Defective?”

He finally looked at me fully.

And somehow, it was worse.

Up close, his stare was colder than ice, darker than storm clouds. He looked through me like I was a misfired weapon.

“You’re not wolf,” he said. “You shouldn’t exist.”

Everything in me went silent.

Then — boom.

Fire.

My chest pulsed. Heat flooded my veins.

The engine block beside me hissed loudly.

Flames erupted from the hood, roaring upward.

Travis screamed and lunged for the extinguisher.

I stood still.

Hands trembling.

Eyes glowing in the reflection of the fire.

Kael didn’t move.

Didn’t even flinch.

He just turned his head to his scout and said, “Told you. She’s unstable.”

And then — like I was just a problem to be logged and filed away —

He walked out.

Smoke curled around me like a lover.

My heart pounded. My vision blurred.

My mate had rejected me.

Not gently.

Not confused.

Not conflicted.

Coldly.

Deliberately.

Like I was a mistake.

When the flames died and the smoke cleared, I was still standing in the same spot.

Hands clenched.

Jaw tight.

And for the first time in my life, I didn’t feel small.

I felt furious.

If Kael Draven thought rejecting me would be the end of this story…

He had no idea what I was capable of.