My Quiet Blacksmith Novels & Stories

Third Person POV A black SUV comes to a sudden halt in front of an old shack. The dim light turns on inside, and an old man with a body length walking stick comes out. His eyes are white matching his head full of slivered hair, midback length. He wears an old dark gray robe and slips his flip flops on to step outside. "Blake son! Is that you?" The old wolf says. The SUV door opens and Blake makes his way out wearing combat uniform, matching with the uniforms his warriors wear.

Everything I did was for us, Terence! "You have to believe me, Terence. I really love you. Trust me. It's really not because of money…" Terence's gaze was icy as he snorted. "You want me to trust you? Haven't I trusted you enough all these years? Just the sight of you makes me feel utterly disgusted, Winona! "You love using me, don't you? You love framing other people, right? Well, you should experience what that's like. Maybe I'll forgive you once you've gotten enough of a taste of what it feels like."

The iron hissed in my hand, steam curling like smoke from a dragon’s nostrils. Without much thinking, I stared at the maroon gown and pressed the iron down, hearing that sizzle of fabric. The sweet scent of burning silk filled the air, bringing a satisfactory smile to my lips. The deep maroon turned the black beneath the iron’s edge, curling in on itself like dying petals. That was undoubtedly the most enjoyable sight I had ever seen. But alas. My happiness was short-lived! Beatrice’s shriek rippled through the hallway before I could even put the iron down.

We were greeted warmly by this pretty maid wearing those cliché black and white uniform with a feather duster in her hand. ''Good day Master. Welcome back....Is this the young maiden you've always been talking about?....She's even prettier than how you described her'' She said smiling broadly at me. I couldn't help but return the warm gesture. She seems nice. Finally, someone I actually like. He cleared his throat nervously. ''Thank you, Katherine for your unwanted services but your stay here has been long overdue. Go bother someone else, maybe the cook or the butler....'' She huffed and walked off. Clearly, Damian doesn't like her guts and since I hate Damian I like whoever he hates.

Life is harsh at times but family, friends and loved ones are all you need. And to think it all started with the quiet girl from school. The quiet girl that we once bullied then she turned into the most important woman in our lives. We love her so much and always will. My quiet girl who is now my not so quiet woman. She is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen and I know she always will be. Her laugh, her blush and her cute giggle are what I love the most and so do the guys. Alexis smiles at us as we play with the kids and make them laugh. Scott sits beside her and I pat his shoulder, getting a smile.

I'm just an escort. Yarsi turned around, measured the blacksmith with a calm look. Let this person feel his essence. He even wondered how someone who could understand who he was would react. “I have heard about your skill, blacksmith, I hope you will not refuse to help me,” he bared his fangs in a smile, examining the man with curiosity. The blacksmith was not young, but still quite strong, with a face without wrinkles and a completely bald head. On his face smeared with soot, very bright, understanding eyes burned with feverish lights. It was better to talk to such a person directly, without hiding your intentions.

Each dish I cleaned felt like an anchor, keeping me from drifting into the silence that hung heavy in the air. At the counter, Damien Blackstone sat alone, hunched over a glass of whiskey. He cradled the glass in his hands, rolling the cool weight between his fingers. The ice shifted and cracked softly, a quiet echo in the stillness. Damien stared into the amber liquid, his brow furrowed, lost in thought. I watched him out of the corner of my eye, careful not to linger too long. He didn’t need an audience right now. Or maybe he did. I couldn’t tell.

Yes, quickly. The sorcerer was bitter and hurt for the absurdly dead blacksmith, who, apparently, was mourned only by children, while his wife was burdened by the need to grieve. From the indifference of a good-for-nothing woman, from such obvious neglect, something black rose in my soul, learning. Going up to the mistress of the house, he squeezed the collar of her shirt and, looking into her eyes wide with fear, said:

NAME: Blackfang LOCATION: Auto shop district DELIVERY TYPE: Noodles Of course. Nothing good ever comes out of that place except broken headlights and guys who think revving at 2 a.m. is a personality trait. And isn't it a little odd for the feared Blackfang bikers to be ordering noodles at this time of the night, it's pretty sassy for a bunch of biker kings. But I keep moving, the street is quiet and too quiet at that. The type of quiet that makes you think God muted the world. I stop in front of the shop listed on the order.

"Like that would." Silence descended, heavy and thick, broken only by the crackle of the forge and the hiss of steam from the quenching troughs. Doric stared at her, his expression unreadable. The two younger smiths exchanged glances. Torin remained impassive, a silent observer.