My Quiet Blacksmith Novels & Stories

🌸 Author’s Note – Thank You From the Bottom of My Heart 🌸 I woke up this morning to see that Wreck Me Quietly had been added to 12 readers' libraries overnight. Twelve. That might not sound like much to some people, but to me… it’s everything.

Yet, the right side of his jaw was clenched with such territorial madness that the veins along his temple looked ready to snap, his dark amber eyes completely swallowed by the ink-black film of his alpha instincts as he scanned the golden chamber. The space inside the mountain was vast, a circular amphitheater carved not by tools, but by raw, primal thermal force. In the center of the room sat a massive, three-tiered anvil of solid black lodestone, its surface etched with the deep, glowing gold runes of the first sovereign blacksmiths. Above it hung a colossal, mechanical hammer suspended by thick, ancient brass chains that ground against the ceiling with the sound of grinding tectonic plate

If I didn't find out, I would have thought his pack stayed in the mansion due to how big and beautiful the mansion is. The blacksmith bowed to me before turning to Damien. He had a strange smell. I couldn't smell the pack on him which was strange. Don't tell me… The blacksmith was a rogue. How hilarious. I stifled the smile trying to form. “Alpha Thomas, this is John, the blacksmith,’’ he introduced us. John nodded in acknowledgment. He didn't look pleased to see me and neither was I happy with him. “You have a way with people, Alpha Damian,” I snickered. He furrowed his brows in confusion. “You're a Rogue Alpha yet a rogue wolf is working in your pack and has refused to join it, right?” I r

2023 In the cold, quiet night, a black BMW XM navigated the dimly lit streets of Cuba. Inside, Williams Stone sat calmly, his gaze fixed on the road ahead. The city's dark glow cast a shadow on half of his chiseled features, giving him an eerie appearance. The car slowed to a stop in front of an abandoned warehouse on the city's outskirts. Williams stepped out, his long black coat swaying slightly in the wind. With his hands in his pocket, he stood for a moment. Almost immediately, three imposing figures emerged from the shadows, their footsteps echoing in the silence of the night.

“Our local blacksmith is a very mysterious Slayer, full of surprises, but a good fellow. He isn’t from around here but everybody adores him just the same. Oh, and have I mentioned he’s blind?” “Blind?!” Temujin and Aki echoed. “Oh yes, that’s right. Completely, I’m afraid. I wouldn’t challenge him to a spar though on account of that, for he can put any able-bodied Slayer to shame. Also, he very much prefers a simple and private life.” “Oh, I’ve heard of this blacksmith,” Sasha jumped in. “He’s the one who makes most of the blue Slayer suits by cooking the tree-drops in a stove. Somehow he knows how to combine fire and wind techniques.”

“Two and a half.” “One hour forty-five.” The blacksmith rubbed his face. “You’re insane.” Michelle said nothing. He swore. “Fine. But you stay. If I leave you here alone and someone comes asking questions, I lose my licence. You stay. You don’t leave.” Michelle didn’t trust him enough to leave anyway. She nodded. “I stay.” He got to work. The forge roared to life, metal heating to red flame. Sparks burst. The air thickened with heat and smoke. Michelle sat on a stool against the wall, hands folded, mind sharp.

It was quiet, peaceful and for a little while, it felt like the world had stopped moving. ... Across town, the world was far from quiet. Inside an old garage on the edge of the industrial district, Damian Blackwood sat at the end of a long metal table. The walls were stained with oil and rust. Only one bright light hung from the ceiling, swinging slightly as if even the air here couldn’t stay still. Around the table sat eight men all wearing dark masks. Their voices echoed softly in the large room. The smell of metal, smoke, and gasoline filled the air.

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?”

he whispered to himself as he breathed deeply and wiped his eyes. Letting out a deep sigh, he composed himself and walked towards the door, turning the knob. As he opened it, two maids bowed before him and smiled. "Sir. You seemed to be in pain a few moments ago... Is everything alright?," the squeaky voiced woman asked him, smiling yet it was evident in her deep blue eyes that she was worried. She had the look of someone in her late twenties, her golden hair was neatly braided, reaching her waist. A few freckles covered her nose and as she smiled, it showed a few crooked teeth and charred lips. He looked at her and noticed the tattoo mark on her neck.

I walked past the monochrome-colored tiles, dropping the newspaper collection and the weird-looking stone on the dining table. With a relaxed mind, I headed back to my room, rolling under the sheets for a nice sleep. The sounds of wails and screams crust into my ears, my head banging with the interruption. What had happened to have caused such a peaceful neighborhood to be in shambles? Well, Father Timothy might be having some deliverance program. He is a man of great