All Chapters of The Hawkins Blood: Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

Growing up, my mom always told me I was special. But when you’re raised in a quiet town like Yerrington, that kind of talk just sounded like background noise. Everyone’s parents said the same thing—“You’re special”—even though they all lived the same, ordinary lives. But Mom? She was different. Now, looking back, I find myself craving those “simpler” days—arguing with Mom over hard math homework or refusing to wash a mountain of dishes on my own. Back when my biggest fear was flunking calculus. But in truth, those times weren’t simple at all. While other kids played hopscotch or dressed dolls, Mom had me learning to shoot targets and calculating coordinates in our backyard. Because my mom wasn’t just a mom. She was a hunter. And I was supposed to become one, too. My father, Anthony Hawkins, was rarely around. He’d pop in every six months or so—just long enough to make sure we were still breathing. I used to worship him, but by the time I hit twelve, the shine had worn off. I asked

We had driven for days. Every morning, afternoon, and night, I called my mom’s phone—every one of them. And every single time, it rang out without an answer. I began to worry. I begged Anthony to turn around. I pleaded. I screamed. I even tried to bolt once, but he never wavered. Two days into our long, winding drive out of Nevada, I’d planned to sneak off while we were at a run-down motel. But somehow, I woke up the next morning in the passenger seat, the city skyline fading behind us. The farther we got from Yerrington, the more hope started slipping through my fingers. I didn’t even know what exactly had attacked us that night—it had all happened so fast. Still, some part of me clung to the belief that Mom had survived. She was a fighter. She’d faced down things that would leave most people sobbing in a closet. Why would this time be any different? Because it is, whispered the part of me that had seen her eyes as I was dragged away. I barely spoke to Anthony during the long h

“How?” Williams asked, his green eyes wide with a flicker of admiration. For a brief moment, I saw myself in that gaze—the same look I had once worn when I was twelve, still naive enough to believe Anthony Hawkins could do no wrong. It was the last time I ever looked at him like that. “I’m still figuring it out,” Anthony said. “That’s why Kate’s here. I need the three of you to look out for one another until this is over.” “Let us come with you,” Alexandra said firmly, stepping forward. Anthony lowered his head for a moment, his voice barely audible. “Not yet, Alex.” Then louder, with the full weight of a father’s worry, “You have to understand—this demon is no joke. It’s powerful, unpredictable. I can’t risk you being caught in the middle. Any of you.” His eyes settled on me as he extended a hand. A peace offering. I hesitated, then took it. “I don’t want any of you hurt,” he added. “You don’t have to worry,” Alexandra said, voice steady. Anthony gave a quiet laugh. “I’ll alw

I drifted in and out of consciousness while William drove. The emotional and physical toll of the past few days had finally caught up with me. I’d survived on adrenaline, but now I was crashing.By the time we pulled into a run-down motel on the outskirts of Seattle, I wasn’t tired anymore. Just… hollow. William paid in cash and only realized he’d gotten one room after returning with the key. “Instinct,” he mumbled. I didn’t care.The room reeked of cheap disinfectant and stale air, but it was shelter, and that was enough. I claimed the futon without protest from either of them. They took turns in the bathroom while I sat quietly, waiting for the hot water to be mine. When it was, I stepped in and let the scalding spray burn the grime and stress off me. The pipes groaned, but the pressure held steady. I stayed until the water turned lukewarm.Steam curled around me as I stepped out, damp hair clinging to my back. I clutched my bundle of dirty clothes

Rodeo Drive-In looked exactly how it sounded—like something out of a dusty postcard from the past. Neon lights flickered over the chrome-rimmed counters, and the scent of grilled meat and frying oil hung thick in the warm Nevada air. Both the inside dining room and the outdoor benches were crawling with teenagers. Overhead speakers blasted classic rock so loud it rattled the windows.It was all incredibly tacky. But the familiarity of it—the chaotic energy, the smell, the burnt-orange sky overhead—pulled something warm and nostalgic from deep inside me. The drive-in back in Yerrington had the same cheap signage, the same cracked benches. I could almost taste their double-stacked burgers just thinking about it.As soon as we parked, questions started flying.A group of teens was gathered around one of the outdoor tables. One of them, a boy with an oversized flannel and spiked hair—Table Boy, as I came to think of him—leaned in with wide, animated eyes.