Milo Thatch Novels & Stories

This was the very Milo who ranked first among the ten toughest people! He was the leader of Firebrand Base, a man who was said to have reduced his own base down to nothing but the last few survivors. When he heard Liam's voice, the man in the mask reached up and pulled off the black face cover. A tan, sun-darkened face appeared. Milo's face was lean, with a hint of foreign blood. His features were sharp and rugged, his brows heavy, his nose high and straight, and his eyes a clear amber color. Everything about him looked hard and unbreakable.

After letters or texts he'll put LR. Milo Tomas Young: Light brown hair that is styled in a short messy way, blueish-greenish eyes. He's slightly shorter than Lyle, only coming up to his shoulder. He is an ex-human and used to be the New York Best Seller for four years in a row, his books always having supernaturals in them. He is obsessed with the supernatural, vampires being his favorite. Ever since he was younger, his dream was to meet an actual vampire and try to be turned. Not being a full vampire yet, he doesn't really have a special ability, but he seems to be able to get Lyle to carry him everywhere. He loves his hair being played with, and he used to identify himself as straight, bu

There are times when I wish my legs would give out and I could be free from this. Upon reaching the top of the stairs, I heard approaching footsteps, and, to my surprise, Milo and a girl appeared in front of me. Milo's face shows disgust when he looks at me. Standing at approximately 6'2, Milo is an 18-year-old with fair skin, short blond hair, and light blue eyes. He possesses a muscular physique and holds the titles of Alpha and Luna's son, destined to become the future Alpha. Milo was my second mate til he rejected me. His reputation will suffer if anyone finds out we are mates, which is why he threatened me. I'm not sure what "man card" status means, though. His rejection turned out to b

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I froze in my tracks, warning myself not to take another step. “Go back to sleep,” I muttered. I turned my back on him despite every ounce of better judgment telling me to walk away. His hand found my wrist before I could take a single step. His grip was loose but insistent, pulling me down toward him with a strength that should not have existed in someone this thoroughly drunk. “Mr. Milson—” My voice cut off as his other hand rose. It was unsteady, but it found the side of my face. His thumb brushed slowly along my cheekbone, and every single rational thought in my head went completely, dangerously silent.

Underneath, printed in thick black font: Subject of Interest – ZAKHAR VERONIN. I stare at the name like it’s a joke. It isn’t. “That’s not me.” “Isn’t it?” Milo asks. “Because I gotta say… if someone’s using that many resources to track down a nobody from the group home circuit, maybe you’re not a nobody.” He leaves after that. No goodbyes. Just a shrug and a warning: Keep your head down. Like that’s ever worked for me. I sit alone at my table for a long time, the paper still in front of me. My name, not Zach Pierce but Zakhar fucking Veronin, burning into my retinas.

His photo was good-looking, but it was a bit blurry; his record read clean; his background wasn't mentioned, just that he worked as a bodyguard trained in different combat styles; and his remarks read efficient, and skilled. "No social media presence," Milo said, a bit surprised by the guy's profile. “I bet he’s going to be in his mid-forties; even older guys do social media,” Milo said without realising he was smiling. He thought about annoying the hell out of the old guy till he gave up his job, and Milo would pay for compensation. “Great,” he whispered, smiling. As those thoughts spiralled in his head, he tapped his legs, smiling, and then he flopped back in his chair, spinning slowly as

He wasn't the only one watching. A group of guys from the rugby team were leaning against a brick wall, watching Milo approach. Jax saw the way their eyes raked over Milo’s curves. He saw the leader—a thick-necked guy named Thorne—nudge his friend and point at the way Milo’s trousers hugged his hips. "Look at that view," Thorne whispered, loud enough for the wind to carry it. "You sure that's a dude? I bet he's softer than a girl." Milo’s shoulders hunched. He walked faster, his face burning a bright, humiliated red. He tripped slightly on an uneven paving stone, his books wobbling precariously.

Adrian Milo stood there, my father’s old assistant, holding a carton of wine bottles at his feet. The realization hit me. I had completely forgotten I had instructed him to stock the lake house. But even as relief started to creep in, something else made me pause. Milo was uneasy. Too uneasy for something as simple as a delivery. "Master," he said, bowing his head in deference, recognizing not just my power, but who I was — his Sire, his Lord.

The Tail would have called him payment. Jack looked at the condition carefully. Not one who must be offered. One who was offered and returned. He smiled. "No," he said. "Not me." Vance's smile faltered. Jack turned to Aaliyah's screen. "Milo." Aaliyah stopped breathing. Milo Venn, thirteen forever and newly named, stared from the restored witness layer. "I was offered," he whispered. "To the ledger. To the fire. To the debt." Aaliyah's eyes filled. "Milo, you do not have to."