Milo Manheim Feather Novels & Stories

Casser laughed loudly. “You got me there,” said Remuel, admitting defeat. There was a pause before Casser spoke. “About Mira’s feather bag though, I don’t think those are melsip feathers. Melsip feathers are quite rare and are as rare as the magical birds themselves.” “Yes, I know. The birds could turn themselves invisible at the first hint of danger and it would take powerful magic to be able to track them in the jungle,” said Remuel. “I haven’t really come across a lot of them, but I’ve seen one or two and I think that bag was covered with melsip feathers.”

He asks, shock evident in his voice. I let out a deep breath. “Simon just know that I do. Don’t ever question me again. Anyways, you can remorse about Miller leaving after you send me the picture and description. Remember two minutes.” I say ending the call. Within two minutes I have Miller’s picture with me. According to Simon he’s a 5ft 6 inch Caucasian male in his late twenties who weighs about 205 pounds. He has dark brown eyes and dirty blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail. He has a tattoo of a bird on the inside of his right middle finger and his full name is Joshua Miller.

River shakes his head, now shaken out of his reverie. He regards Milo, noticing him as a man of stature, from the way he dresses and the charming smile on his face. Slicked back, his dark brown hair shines in the light that bounces off his tanned complexion. It gives the man reason to be charming, and socially outgoing. "I've seen you somewhere before, but I wonder if it was on the tele or in person," Milo's enchanting British accent rings in the air as he extends a hand. "I'm Milo. Owner of Chariottē Casinos."

I asked, scratching behind his ears. There was a collar around his neck, a tiny silver tag glinting in the light. I flipped it over, squinting to read the words engraved on it. The front just had his name—Milo—but the back made me laugh out loud: HE HAS BEEN FED. DON’T BE DECEIVED. I laughed harder than I’d expected, the sound surprising me. “You little con artist,” I said, shaking my head as I scratched under his chin. “Thanks for cheering me up, Milo.”

He had neat hair, trimmed moustache and by his attire, he looked like one of the commanders of the clan’s army. “You,” Mila pointed. But as everyone’s head was bowed down, her comment went unnoticed. Exasperated, she stood up and walked to the man. “You,” she repeated as she dramatically tapped the man’s head with her index finger. She saw the man stiffen for a moment, but then he looked up. “Rise,” Mila ordered. The man obeyed. “What is happening here?” Mila asked as she pointed around the crowd of the still bowing people.

Milo greeted me with a wide smile on his face. Milo is one of my closest friends in Bendoveh Island's Sixth District. He is the only bartender who does not consume alcohol. He's been clean for nearly three years. We grew up together and have been looking out for each other ever since. I've been going to the 69ers Club every night, and Milo has been my spotter and wingman when it comes to women.

It was almost as if it was happening in slow motion, especially when Holly flipped her hair over her shoulder as we walked through the front door. She had gotten dressed up in a skimpy dress that showed off a generous amount of skin, worn minimal makeup and instead opted to put glitter on her cheekbones, letting the lighting in the club do all the work showing off her slim facial structure. Milo had worn a more casual attire than his usual suit and button-down look. He wore a well-fitted white tank that was covered by a leather jacket and matched it with black jeans. His blonde-tipped brown hair was styled so that it looked spiky, even though his hair was short.

I stood there, looking at the handsome man in front of me. He had tousled dark hair that fell perfectly around his face, framing his strong jawline. His eyes were a deep blue, almost like the ocean, and they sparkled with confidence. He had a well-defined body, muscular yet not overly bulky, and he wore a fitted shirt that showed off his toned arms. I couldn’t help but think, who looks more handsome than him and Milo?

"You always hide under those heavy clothes, Milo. But tonight is special. For Elena’s sake, and for ours, we need to show the Vances that this family is a collection of treasures." Milo retreated behind the screen. He stripped off his armor—the baggy hoodie and the loose jeans—and felt the cool air hit his skin. As he slid into the cream trousers, his breath hitched. The fabric clung. It hugged the wide, feminine flare of his hips and smoothed over the "bouncy" curves of his rear in a way that made him feel utterly exposed.

Third Person's POV Adelaide seized the opening. Her whip lashed out like a lightning strike, coiling tight around Milo's neck before she yanked him backward with a bone-crushing tug! Milo lost his balance instantly, stumbling and crashing to his knees right in front of her. Standing under the dim, yellow glow of a streetlamp, Adelaide looked down at him, her lips curling into a mocking smirk. "So, you're Milo Fernandez, the Commander of the Western Royal Guard. You lost."