My Thomas Story Library Thomas Novels & Stories

“I’m surprised you’re even willing to leave your territory. Let alone choose to come to mine. Aren’t you afraid I’ll try to keep you there?” “And what? Start a pack war? Or lose my pack just to keep me?” “Gods, how did everything get some complicated?” Thomas tiredly threw his arm over his face while his brain became bogged down with complications and politics. “That’s it enough. I can’t think anymore. I’m going to sleep.” “You do that. I won’t be reading much longer.” She dimmed the lights now and read the book on her phone for a little while before she too stretched out and took a nap.

Thomas smiled when he heard what she said. “Yes I am.” Thomas replied and picked the glass if wine and sipped it. He dropped the glass back on the table and continued reading the book he was holding. The maid looked at the book and smiled. She knew that something big was about to happen because he was reading an Alpha book. “Seems like you're about to take what's yours.” The miaid said to him with a smile on her face. Thomas hates it when she starts acting smart but this time he overlooked everything and smiled because he'll be making use of her smartness the moment he gets to the castle.

‘Members. ‘Well, how about ye tell me?’ Maud said. ‘No one else needs to know, do they?’ ‘I can’t tell you,’ Thomas said sternly, causing Maud to take a step back in surprise. ‘It’s against the rules.’ ‘And where are these rules?’ Maud said, her face impassive, but in her eyes anxiety took up residence. Thomas pulled open the flap on a breast pocket and removed a small, buff-coloured book. ‘This is the Blue Thunder Handbook,’ he explained. ‘The rules.’

What he brought out didn’t look like a novel. It was an old leather-bound journal, hand-stitched, pages stained with age. He handed it to me without a word. I opened it slowly, and the first thing I saw was a sketch of a man mid-shift, half-human, half-wolf, his mouth open in a silent scream. “There are stories,” Thomas said quietly. “Stuff no one talks about anymore. Most people laugh it off. But there’s always some truth buried in the myths.” I nodded, heart racing. “Where did you get this?”

Thomas is a careful correspondent. Thomas wrote about the library. He wrote about the city library in its urban condition — the large building, the many floors, the different rooms for the different library conditions. He wrote about the reading rooms and the reference section and the children's area and the periodicals and the study carrels. He wrote about the library as the room for the attending in all its conditions — the solitary reader and the researcher and the student and the child and the person who came for the warmth and the person who came for the quiet and the person who came for neither but came anyway.

The baby kicks again, as if he can't wait to join this family. Thomas arrives for dinner, he comes every Saturday now. He brings a new book for Emma, something about brave princesses who save themselves. She squeals with delight and demands he read it immediately. Over dinner, we talk about everything and nothing. Thomas tells stories about his bookstore. Tony mentions a new project at Stark Industries focused on creating jobs for domestic violence survivors. Emma chatters about kindergarten and her best friend Sophie and the caterpillar they're raising in class.

“I’ll add something too. Maybe a little picture of a dragon.” Emma raised an eyebrow. “A dragon? I didn’t know you were an artist.” Thomas smirked. “Oh, I’m not. It’ll look like a lopsided lizard, but Lily won’t mind. She’ll know it’s a dragon because I said it is.” Emma chuckled. “Fair enough. She does have a good imagination.” Thomas leaned back against the couch, stretching his arms out. “Do you think she’ll always be this creative like her grandmother Mrs. Williams? The stories she comes up with are amazing.”

"It needs stuff." "What kind of stuff?" Thomas asked. Sam considered this seriously. "Pictures of us. And maybe some of his books." "His books?" "The baby needs to know what stories are good. I could put some of my favorites in here." I felt my throat tighten. "That's a wonderful idea."

Thomas was asleep on a pile of old vellum, his hand still twitching as if he were writing in his dreams. ​"He’s the next edition, isn't he?" Damian asked, his voice thick with a father’s pride and a printer’s awe. ​"He’s the Revised Version," I said, leaning against him. "We spent our lives trying to keep the worlds apart, or force them together. He just... talks to both." ​The "Story that flows nicely" had reached a plateau. We had survived the Billionaire, the Architect, and the Ghost. We had built a world where the ink and the light lived in a fragile, beautiful balance.

"No, not at all. Thomas just returned from the Southern Frontier, and I wanted to ask about…the situation there. It's not something I can inquire about with anyone else, so I thought it best to ask him directly." Her deliberate hesitation was intended to make them think she was curious about whether Oliver had any women on the side—after all, a wife at home would naturally worry about such things. Alice picked up on this, and smiled knowingly. "Alright, you two go ahead." Thomas' study was furnished in a simple manner. There was a large black desk, matching black chairs, and two towering bookshelves filled with books. A few swords hung on the walls, and a long axe stood in the corner to the