
A Knack For Trouble
Kayzee Richy · Ongoing · 78.5k Words
Introduction
Then he walks into her shop.
Roran is a brooding fae blacksmith with forge-fire eyes, shoulders broad enough to block a doorway, and a hellhound puppy that chews her furniture. He also comes bearing an impossible request: find him a mortal wife within three months, bound by an unbreakable fae promise—with one devastating condition. Miri must not, under any circumstances, fall in love with him herself.
Chapter 1
Miri pov
The thing about having a perfect record is that every single person in the village expects you to keep it.
"One hundred, Miri. One hundred successful matches." Mrs Biddleton clasped her plump hands together over the bakery counter, her cheeks wobbling with the force of her smile. "You simply must let me bake you a celebration cake. Three tiers. Sugared rose petals. A little marzipan couple on top."
I slid two copper pennies across the worn wood and accepted my daily sourdough loaf, still warm from the ovens. "That's very kind, but I haven't reached one hundred yet."
"You will, dear. You will."
The confidence in her voice should have been reassuring. Instead, it settled somewhere in my stomach like a stone I'd swallowed by accident. Ninety-nine matches. Ninety-nine couples currently holding hands, bickering over whose turn it was to milk the goats, or producing alarmingly adorable babies with dimples and my name as their middle.
I'd earned my reputation. I'd built it, smile by smile, late night by late night, carefully coaxing the shy and the stubborn toward each other like a gardener training climbing roses up a trellis. Bramblewood trusted me. The neighbouring villages trusted me. Old Widow Hempstill, who hadn't spoken to another human being for eleven years, trusted me enough to let me introduce her to the retired sea captain who kept bees, and now they bickered happily over honey extraction methods every second Thursday.
Ninety-nine matches.
The hundredth was somewhere out there, waiting.
"Same time tomorrow?" I asked, tucking the sourdough into my basket beside the small linen-wrapped bundle that contained my lunch, my notebook, and a sprig of dried lavender I'd been carrying around for three days for no particular reason.
"Of course, dear. Give my love to that lovely starter of yours."
I glanced down at the basket, where a faint, contented bubbling sound was emanating from beneath the cloth. "She says she'd prefer a rye flour feeding tomorrow, if you have any spare."
Mrs Biddleton didn't blink. In Bramblewood, nobody blinked at a matchmaker who conversed with her sourdough starter. We were a village of quiet magics, small knacks, tiny impossibilities that had long since become ordinary. The miller's flour never spoiled. The innkeeper's soup always tasted like whatever you were homesick for. And I, Miri Thistlewick, could see the invisible threads that connected people's hearts.
It wasn't dramatic. I couldn't conjure lightning or command the weather or speak to the dead. I just knew, with a certainty that sat somewhere between my ribs and my spine, when two people belonged together. The starter—whom I had named Persephone in a moment of mythological whimsy I'd never quite lived down—was my particular bit of magic. She'd been a wedding gift from my grandmother, who'd whispered into the bubbling jar that every matchmaker needed someone to talk to who couldn't talk back.
Persephone begged to differ on the "couldn't talk back" part, but that was between me and my bread.
I stepped out of the bakery and into the honey-gold light of an early autumn morning. Bramblewood sprawled before me like a contented cat, its cobblestone streets winding between half-timbered buildings painted in faded shades of sage, cream, and robin's-egg blue. Window boxes overflowed with the last of the season's geraniums. Somewhere, the blacksmith's hammer rang out in its familiar rhythm, a sound as constant as my own heartbeat.
I paused.
The smithy. I'd been meaning to stop by for weeks. The old blacksmith, Master Harlow, had retired to a cottage by the river two summers ago, and his replacement—some fae fellow from the northern courts, if the gossip was accurate—had been keeping to himself with a determination that bordered on professional rudeness. Not that I'd had cause to meet him. Smiths tended to be solitary sorts, and I didn't need a new kettle.
Still. A new face in the village was a new heart to understand, and understanding hearts was my business.
"Later," I murmured to Persephone, who burbled what I chose to interpret as agreement. "Business first."
Business, on this particular morning, was a young woman named Daisy Greenbarrow, who had come to me three weeks ago with tears in her cornflower-blue eyes and a problem that had stumped every matchmaker in the county. Daisy was lovely, sweet-natured, and possessed of a dowry that included forty acres of prime grazing land. She should have been the easiest match of my career.
The problem was her smell.
Not a bad smell, precisely. It changed hourly. At dawn, she smelled of freshly baked bread. By midmorning, of woodsmoke and autumn leaves. Afternoon brought rain on hot stone, and evening drifted into something floral and musky that made the village bees follow her home. Nobody could explain it. Her mother claimed it was a blessing from a fae godmother who'd had too much elderberry wine at the christening. Daisy just wanted to find a husband who didn't sneeze whenever she entered a room.
I had a candidate in mind. His name was Tom Coppernose, and he'd lost his sense of smell in a childhood fever. More importantly, he was kind, stable, and had mentioned to me at the Midsummer Fair that he found Daisy's laugh "like bells." When a man who can't smell describes the quality of a woman's laughter unprompted, I pay attention.
The introduction was scheduled for noon, in the village green where neutrality and fresh air would do most of the heavy lifting. I had three hours to prepare.
Three hours, as it turned out, was about two hours and fifty-seven minutes more than I needed.
Because when I rounded the corner of Clover Lane, still mentally rehearsing my opening remarks about the weather and the surprisingly robust turnip harvest, I walked directly into a wall.
The wall, I realised with considerable dismay from my new position flat on the cobblestones, was in fact a man.
"Oh," I said, which wasn't my finest rhetorical work but seemed appropriate given that my basket had upended, Persephone was making indignant bubbling sounds from somewhere near my left elbow, and my dried lavender had landed in a puddle. "Oh, dear."
The man—the wall—the obstacle—did not help me up.
He stood over me, backlit by the morning sun, and for one absurd moment I thought the old stories had come true and someone had carved a statue from shadow and embers and set it loose in Bramblewood. He was tall in a way that made my neck ache just looking up at him. Broad in a way that suggested he'd never met a doorway he didn't threaten. His hair was the deep, blue-black of a moonless night, pulled back from a face that might have been handsome if it hadn't been arranged in an expression of such profound irritation that I felt vaguely guilty for existing in his path.
His eyes, when they met mine, were the colour of banked coals. Literally. There were actual embers glowing in their depths, a faint smoulder that had nothing to do with reflected sunlight and everything to do with the fact that this was not a human man.
This was a fae.
The fae. The Lord of the blacksmith.
"Oh, no," I said, with somewhat more feeling.
"You," said the fae, in a voice that sounded like gravel and thunder and the deep, resonant ring of a hammer striking hot iron, "are the matchmaker."
It wasn't a question. It was an accusation, delivered with the same tone someone might use to say you are the person who poisoned my well or you are the individual who let my goats escape.
"Yes," I admitted, from the ground. "I am. And you are the new blacksmith. Who is currently standing in a puddle of what I sincerely hope is rainwater while I sit here getting a very damp skirt."
He did not apologise. He did not offer me a hand. He simply stared down at me with those smouldering eyes, and I felt something shift in the air between us, something that had nothing to do with my bruised dignity or his apparent lack of basic social graces.
Then he spoke again.
"I require your services."
Last Chapters
#75 Chapter 75 Anya
Last Updated: 7/2/2026#74 Chapter 74 Returning
Last Updated: 7/2/2026#73 Chapter 73 Proposition
Last Updated: 7/2/2026#72 Chapter 72 Rebuilding
Last Updated: 7/2/2026#71 Chapter 71 Peaceful days almost over
Last Updated: 7/2/2026#70 Chapter 70 Matchmaking again
Last Updated: 7/2/2026#69 Chapter 69 Normal life
Last Updated: 7/2/2026#68 Chapter 68 You cannot protect me
Last Updated: 7/2/2026#67 Chapter 67 Alive
Last Updated: 7/2/2026#66 Chapter 66 Coming back
Last Updated: 7/2/2026
You Might Like 😍
The Game of Claiming
A drunken bet becomes their private game: win the maid.
The rules?
Don’t let the others know you’re falling for her.
And never, ever let her leave.
But each brother plays differently—
The eldest buys her obedience.
The second steals her breath.
The third corners her in the dark.
The youngest ruins anyone who touches her.
Lila isn’t sure if she’s a player in their game… or the prize they’ll destroy each other to claim
Let Them Kneel
Cast out by her pack. Forgotten by the Lycans.
She lived among humans—quiet, invisible, tucked away in a town no one looked at twice.
But when her first heat comes without warning, everything changes.
Her body ignites. Her instincts scream. And something primal stirs beneath her skin—
summoning a big, bad Alpha who knows exactly how to quench her fire.
When he claims her, it’s ecstasy and ruin.
For the first time, she believes she’s been accepted.
Seen.
Chosen.
Until he leaves her the next morning—
like a secret never to be spoken.
But Kaelani is not what they thought.
Not wolfless. Not weak.
There is something ancient inside her. Something powerful. And it’s waking.
And when it does—
they’ll all remember the girl they tried to erase.
Especially him.
She’ll be the dream he keeps chasing… the one thing that ever made him feel alive.
Because secrets never stay buried.
And neither do dreams.
The Rogue King II
Under the weight of his grief and pain, along with of the uncertainty of the new mate bond forged between Silas and Nate, Silas decides that he needs help. The weight of being Alpha that nearly just lost his pack if his little sister hadn’t been there, Silas decides to push everything away to be a better and stronger Alpha. Using magic is father gave him, Silas loses so much more than his way.
Nate, struggling with the mate bond, what the bond means for him, has continued to fight Silas, his Alpha, his best friend, and now his mate. When their fight goes too far, both Silas and Nate must deal with the consequences. It both pulls them together and tears them apart. Eventually leading to a full break in any relationship they had ever had.
On his own, Silas has to navigate through the next chapter alone. Coming to realize his actions, the consequences, and just how much it’s going to take to repair the damage he has done.
Nate, also on his own, works through what it means to step up in more ways than one. Somehow, even after her death, Aelia is still reaching out and helping Nate navigate the world on his own. He vows to grow and step up into the wolf that she knew he could be.
Book 2 in The Rogue Kings following immediately after The Rogue Kings I - Solaris' Reign. Trigger Warnings. Rated 18+.
To protect what’s mine
Rise of the Banished She-Wolf
That roar stole my eighteenth birthday and shattered my world. My first shift should have been glory—blood turned blessing into shame. By dawn they'd branded me "cursed": cast out by my pack, abandoned by family, stripped of my nature. My father didn't defend me—he sent me to a forsaken island where wolfless outcasts were forged into weapons, forced to kill each other until only one could leave.
On that island I learned the darkest edges of humanity and how to bury terror in bone. Countless times I wanted to surrender—dive into the waves and never surface—but the accusing faces that haunted my dreams pushed me back toward something colder than survival: revenge. I escaped, and for three years I hid among humans, collecting secrets, learning to move like a shadow, sharpening patience into precision—becoming a blade.
Then, under a full moon, I touched a bleeding stranger—and my wolf returned with a violence that made me whole. Who was he? Why could he wake what I'd thought dead?
One thing I know: now is the time.
I have waited three years for this. I will make everyone who destroyed me pay—and take back everything that was stolen from me.
Aphrodite and the Cursed Mate Bond
She finds truth.
Aphrodite is not human at all. She is a rare white wolf, descended from an ancient Direwolf bloodline long believed extinct. The ritual meant to sever her ties awakens her wolf instead and with it comes the scent of five mates bound to her by fate.
The Alpha twins who once scorned her now cannot stay away. A human hunter walks beside her and proves that strength is not born of fangs or dominance. A cursed Wolf King holds the key to her past and her father’s imprisonment. And watching from the shadows is one who was never meant to interfere at all.
As gods fall, packs fracture, and war reshapes the world, Aphrodite must decide what destiny truly means. Is it submission to fate or the courage to choose her own path.
Love does not come in one form. Neither does power.
In a world ruled by gods and wolves, Aphrodite will become something neither ever expected.
Not a queen.
But the axis upon which the world turns.
Owned By My Cold-Hearted Psychotic Straight Boss
“Please, what?”
I ran my wet tongue through my dry lips. Voice barely above a whisper. “Please… please... please make me… make me… make me your little bitch.”
The words tasted bitter and filthy on my tongue. I hated myself for saying them. Hated how my cock twitched when I did.
“I can’t hear you, Jones,” He said, voice hard, low and commanding. “Louder.”
I swallowed again, eyes stinging. “Please make me your little bitch.”
“A little louder.”
My cheeks burned. I forced the words out stronger this time. “Please make me your little bitch.”
He smirked, slow and satisfied. The look in his eyes made my stomach flip.
“Good boy,” He murmured. “Now listen carefully, Jones. If you agree to this, you’re mine. Completely. You don't look at other men. You don’t think about them. You don’t even dream about them. Everything about you; your mouth, your ass, your cock, your body… even your thoughts, belongs to me. All of it. I get to treat and use you however and whenever I want. Rough. Gentle. Mean. Filthy. You take it all. And you praise me for it. Understood?”
I hesitated, heart pounding so hard I thought it was going to explode. The last bit of resistance flickered. My mind was screaming no; to get up, run and never look back.
“Well?” He urged, thumb still holding my chin.
I closed my eyes for half a second, detesting every inch of my being. Then I nodded, voice small. “Yes.”
“Yes, what?”
“Yes… I understand.”
“Good.”
...
Shane Blackwood is his name.
And he's a monster.
He's toxic, cruel and psychotic beyond your wildest imagination.
I knew all this.
And yet, I signed that stupid agreement.
And now... he owns me.
Completely.
There's no escape.
[This is a dark erotica MM. Rated 18+]
Bound by Fate, Freed by Choice
Her escape leads her to Alpha Rowan, the commanding leader of the Blackwood Pack, who offers shelter, protection, and an unexpected chance at a new life. But Rowan’s fierce and jealous fiancée sees Lyla as a threat, and the pack’s charming Beta is drawn to her quiet strength.
As a dangerous attraction simmers between Lyla and Rowan, they begin to unravel a dark web of secrets that implicates Kaiden and threatens both their worlds.
With her hidden power awakening, Lyla must navigate treacherous loyalties, face the alpha who shattered her, and decide: Will she follow the destiny fate forced upon her, or claim the love and strength she has chosen for herself?
From Substitute To Queen
Heartbroken, Sable discovered Darrell having sex with his ex in their bed, while secretly transferring hundreds of thousands to support that woman.
Even worse was overhearing Darrell laugh to his friends: "She's useful—obedient, doesn't cause trouble, handles housework, and I can fuck her whenever I need relief. She's basically a live-in maid with benefits." He made crude thrusting gestures, sending his friends into laughter.
In despair, Sable left, reclaimed her true identity, and married her childhood neighbor—Lycan King Caelan, nine years her senior and her fated mate. Now Darrell desperately tries to win her back. How will her revenge unfold?
From substitute to queen—her revenge has just begun!
Lightborn: The Demon’s Bond
Alpha VS Omega' Twin VS Twin (A Dark Werewolf Romance)
Stripped of everything, Callum is thrown into the Rookeries, where packless wolves go to die. But he survives. He builds a pack from the broken and the damned. He falls in love with Valentina, a dhampir hunted by the same vampire Parliament that destroyed his life.
In a city ruled by immortal aristocrats and controlled by ancient dragons, Callum learns the hardest truth: individual virtue cannot defeat systemic evil. But small victories matter. And some fights are worth losing everything
Vengeance of the Forsaken Luna
"Bella." Ethan's tone shifted, taking on that warning edge I knew too well. "Faye is vulnerable right now. She's terrified you'll resent her, that this will divide the pack. The last thing she wants is for this baby to come between us."
"Then you shouldn't have done it." I met his eyes squarely, letting him see the ice in mine. "Go back to your son."
"For fuck's sake." He dragged a hand through his hair. "How many times—it was artificial insemination. They used my sperm, yes, but Faye and I never—"
Bella let out a cold snort. Such brazen lies. Her mate had an affair with his brother's partner, and his entire family helped force her out with nothing, all to make way for the mistress to take her rightful position. Poor fool—he thought she was just an unwanted adopted daughter, easy to dismiss and control. He never knew the computer genius he'd been searching for was his own Luna.
Since he'd tainted himself, Bella was done. She rejected him and reclaimed what was hers, rising to the top with help from Victor, who'd been secretly in love with her for years.
When Ethan tried winning her back: "You don't want our child growing up fatherless."
Bella smiled mockingly. "The child's father isn't you."












