Milkman Novels & Stories

His throat worked as he swallowed hard, betraying his growing unease. “I...I am nothing more than a humble farmer,” the old man began, his voice trembling slightly. “I travel from place to place within the Immortals’ Region, selling the vegetables I grow… especially when winter is nearing and supplies become scarce... And… I am certain I am not mistaken. I have seen that woman. In fact... She bought potatoes from me.” His gaze drifted back to the sketch, his brows knitting together as memory sharpened.

Pain reminded him he was alive. “Drink,” he rasped, handing her the canteen. She took a slow sip, lips trembling. When she returned it, he swallowed a fraction, conserving strength. His throat burned, dry and raw, and yet he moved on. --- The farmhouse came at dusk. Roof collapsed, walls blackened, but still offering cover. Adrian inspected it from the ridge, calculating. His hands were steady on the knife, revolver long gone, rifle almost useless with only two bullets. He set traps: glass shards near the entry, a knife lodged into dirt to grab blind. Every precaution was a heartbeat, every step forward a gamble.

JANE I heard the words leave my mouth before I could stop them. "It's only fair to end this with a little bit of crass, is it not?" His eyebrows went up. Interest flickered across his face. I stood, tucking the bills into my purse with deliberate slowness. Five hundred dollars. That was textbooks and maybe even groceries that weren't ramen. My hands weren't shaking anymore. I was Jailbird now. Fully Jailbird. Jane Puckett was locked away somewhere safe.

Senna I think the dead have a way of making the living talk. It’s the only way I can explain why a man I don’t know just gave me the key to a murder. He didn't even know he was doing it. “Sit down on the stool,” I said. “The light is better over here.” The man groaned as he sat. He smelled like old dust and wet horse. He was a merchant, the kind that carries silk and spices between the big packs. His clothes were nice, but they were covered in mud from the road. He held his right arm against his chest.

“Keep your eyes on me, Emory. Only listen to my voice. You can do it. Slow breaths.” His hands cupped her face and whispered soothingly, “It’s just me and you here. Let everything else fade away.” Only my voice, Emory. As the carriage sped through the streets, the thunderous sound of the storm filled their ears. Emory closed her eyes and focused on Rahl as everything faded away. Reaching deep into her core, she searched for the light that guided her before. Slowly, the voices faded, leaving only Rahl’s touch and voice like a glimmer of hope amidst the tempest.

He gives me a smile and grabs my hand. (What’s your name mate?) he asks curiously. (I’m Mila Gibson and you?) I ask. (That’s a beautiful name. I’m Adam Thompson.) He replies. (What pack are you from Adam?) I ask innocently. (I’m the future beta of the Crescent Moon Pack.) He says proudly. I pull my hand away from him slowly, and he looks at me confused. (Is something wrong?) He asks confused. (I’m sorry, but I have plans and this is not part of them.) I whisper.

“Shut up, woman!“ Darkie flared in anger. “There are plenty of ways to make your son come to you. Do you want me to mention some?“ “He won't!!“ shouted the elderly woman. Darkie chuckled and walked away from the room and the boysquaters with three Mamba soldiers following behind him. He walked to the expensive hut-house a few feets away from the mansion and saw that Mr Miller was reclining on a wide chair. He was obviously very tired as a result of the go and come flight. Darkie signalled the three soldiers to leave him and go do other things and they bowed before walking away. At the corner of the hut-house stood a small refrigerator. Darkie slowly walked to it and took a bottle of strong w

The man was barely breathless. Safety my ass.

Unknown POV I thanked the lady for her troubles, then walked to the counter. "You want more milk?" The bar man asked me in that grating tone. I smiled. "I might. Depends on what you can do for me." "Sometimes, I'm lame. And sometimes, I'm blind. Depends on how far your purse is," the man replied without even looking at me. I dug in my sack and found a small horn, which I slapped on the counter. His face lit up, and I finally had his attention.

he grinned and then chuckled as Della noticed his eyes darkened. The homeless man nodded, his eyes still unfocused. "Water... yeah... thanks, man." "Sorry about that," the man from the diner said to Della. "I think he's had a bit too much to drink. I will escort him away, but lady, you should watch yourself.” His eyes suddenly returned to normal, and Della held her breath, wondering if he could sense she had a wolf. She watched as he walked back into the diner with the homeless man, leaving her alone on the empty street.