Blacksmith Daredevil Novels & Stories

Still, he understood the need for armor. The blacksmith was like his smithy, big, scorched, and black. One of his eye lids was scalded shut, leaving him with only one eye to work with. But it seemed it did nothing to hinder his work. If he was less efficient for it, Sethlzaar could only wonder just how efficient he would've been when he had both eyes.

The bills for her mom’s meds weren’t gonna pay themselves. She’d heard the rumors about Damien Black. Everybody in the circuit had. The man who turned broken riders into something else. Something that won. Something that *belonged*. The barn door creaked open before she even knocked. He filled the frame—six-four easy, shoulders like a draft horse, black hair cropped short, a scar slicing through one dark eyebrow. His eyes dragged over her like he was already pricing her out. Black jeans, black shirt stretched across a chest that looked carved from fucking stone. Boots caked in dirt.

"I know you're one of Schneider's men, but I'm not going to let you go in this state. You definitely need proper treatment." With ease, the people lifted themselves up, walking with steady, steady steps in contrast to their less muscular bodies, like Askarovich. It was only when they had walked quite a distance and their eyes were no longer glaring from the sun, did they realised the identity of the man who was carrying them just now. Alec Berthold. The grandson of Pierre Berthold—a human blacksmith who was granted immortality by the goddess Morrigan and renowned as the only master weapon maker from time to time who could resonate with the magical powers of the old man's clients, who were mo

Nickel stepped forward, put his paws on Spitfire's shoulders and slammed his cock, which was considerably larger than most toms and quite suddenly hard, deep into the no-fur's pocket and began a brutal fuck. Spitfire's entire body tried to jerk away before it remembered that it was trained to handle this. He was a Rodeo star. This Hare might be large, but he wasn't any more violent than the horny toms at a Rodeo. Spitfire twisted his body, bucking his hips into the Hare as much as he could with the tethers holding him. He tilted his hips and groaned as the Hare's cock hit the spot deep in his pocket that sent electricity through the no-fur's body.

(Eliza's POV) I stared at the blacksmith, surprised by his eager recognition. His professional demeanor had vanished. "Your designs," he explained, pointing to a workbench. "I've been waiting for more. The dual-purpose dagger blueprint was extraordinary." Relief washed over me. For a moment, I'd feared he recognized me from somewhere else. "I hadn't realized my design was so impressive," I said, maintaining my male disguise. The blacksmith's eyes lit up. "In thirty years of smithing, I've rarely seen such innovative work. My master was particularly intrigued."

He let it flow in his movements, which gave him an angry and unyielding style and he didn't just force Chris onto the mat once. "When you're in that mood, you are really exhausting," gasped the blonde Elevender and rubbed his jaw, which had just had an upper cut. But immediately he attacked again. He didn't lose the casual expression on his face for a second and Dareon knew that he was only making love to him. Provided him with a chance to blow off steam before he had to work with Catlynn Campbell. His friend sensed that this woman could have a meaning for Dareon and was smart enough to set the course as best as possible. His fabulous looks and boyish charm sometimes belied the fact that Chr

But lately, reports have been of the Dark Knight’s men snooping around, waiting for me to make one wrong move. “I—I don't know what you're talking about. I d—don’t even know who you are.” She stammer out, whimpering, afraid of my demon form before her. It's exactly how I like my captives to be, Afraid. Trembling at my feet. Scared of my unpredictable nature. “Liar!” I growled, grabbing on her neck. I want to go easy, but easy never gets the job done. “You knew exactly where I'd be. At the exact spot I'd be standing, perfect timing, and you want me to believe you're innocent?” I tighten my free hand to a fist, guarding myself from showing mercy.

I applied to Black Builders, a triple-A construction company that I found while looking for work through online job-hunting sites. I reviewed Black Builders’ company profile, and I was impressed, even awed, by the CEO’s handsome profile that I searched on the net. The CEO is happily married with four children, Benedikt Rurik Petrov-Silva, much known as Brix Petrov-Silva. He is in his mid-thirties but still oozing awesomeness.

Each year the festival grew larger and would be those who would try to pull the longbow and have their names added to list of doughty fellows who had made the attempt but failed. The bow brought in good business, and the smith was reluctant to part with it. She could not possibly string, let alone pull it, he thought but he could marshal no claim against her stare or her gold, and through it all, the child never uttered a sound from the secure, warm place perched high on his mother’s shoulder. The smith was not the only one to balk at gold of unfamiliar minting only to acquiesce before that unflinching stare. Even when the gold was later proved true, it was still whispered that some nameless

Now here he was a full grown man of probably twenty five now trying to get me in better shape than I was when I was his age. Marius returned, his facial expression had changed… it was tighter and even more focused than he had been. He nodded once at Damon. “We’ve got a possible lead. There’s a low profile blacksmith in Amber Brook reportedly sold a batch of trinkets to a rogue five days ago. The same style. No permits.” Damon’s gaze sharpened. “Trinkets? They’ve never used trinkets before, do you still think it’s a part of the ring?”