Alexander Hawthorne Novels & Stories

Or will my fate be even worse? I let a childish dream of freedom, and a wolf with kind eyes, ensnare me. Now I am in more danger than ever before. Ethan’s hand curls into a fist at his side. “Oh, let him keep his pet.” The man at the end of the table finally speaks. His voice is as smooth as silk, and, to my surprise, he speaks with a Southlands accent. “Did I ever tell you about the time my mother let me keep a rabbit?” He looks at Robert, before going back to his apple. “When she took it from me, I cried.”

With a face cloaked in anger, Dr. Lawson walked briskly behind Theodore, who led the way. They left the bustling city life behind, entering the area ruled by Mr. Hawthorne. Only a few people were granted permission to step into this realm filled with an aura of darkness. Imprisoning individuals privately and establishing his own prison was an act against the law, but Mr. Hawthorne didn’t care. His land remained a holding place for those who had crossed the boundaries he set. This was how he delivered punishment to those he deemed deserving.

Ava’s POV The knock at my bedroom door was soft, almost too soft for anyone in this house. Sage would have barged in, demanding attention. My father’s knocks were always loud and sure, a reminder of authority. My mother’s came with her voice trailing behind, calling me by name. But this one—hesitant, deliberate—belonged to Alvin. I froze, pen still in hand, the sketches and notes sprawled across the secret board before me glowing under the dim light of my desk lamp. My heart gave a sharp twist. I couldn’t let him see this. Not Alvin. Not anyone.

“Do not think of it in such common terms, June,” he whispered, his voice smooth as silk but heavy as lead. “You are looking at this through the lens of human morality, but we are wolves. We are creatures of destiny and design.”He stepped even closer, his heat radiating through my thin, silver dress, a cruel contrast to the damp stone wall at my back.

Nixon has been haunting my dreams in the most pleasant of ways and I keep replaying the small moment of hope I felt when he called after me the other day as we walked down the street before we went our separate ways. His one word 'Mate' also plagued my mind. It's not lost on us that Brayers, Willows Brook and Carver are bordering towns to a wolf pack. We've been living along side them since the eighteen hundreds.

Alpha Wyatt never came back to the Packhouse while I was there, so I never even got to talk to him about anything—which didn’t help me get any sleep. I had just got to the diner and clocked in; Helping Amelia get the place ready to open, starting up some pots of coffee and making sure the dining area was clean and tidy. I make sure to unlock the doors and light up our open sign in the window. As I got behind the counter to put on my apron, my heart sinks to my stomach. Alpha Wyatt comes walking into the diner, ignoring him until I stopped in my tracks, his overpowering cologne flooding my nose. His smell took hold over me before I could even stop myself from turning around.

] Without waiting for a response, Hugo climbed back into his car and drove off into the night, the hum of the engine disappearing down the empty road. Left behind, Alexander stood swaying slightly under the dim porch light, one hand braced against the iron gate. His dress shirt was wrinkled, his tie loosened and hanging off one side. His eyes were bloodshot, rimmed with exhaustion and intoxication, but still held a flicker of stubborn determination.

He had kept the secret for over 18 years, but when the red boy was sitting at this dining, they all came back rushing in. Mr. Hathaway knew he had to say something to Alex. He had been watching him closely since he came, and so far, what he had observed was that the boy was also on land for love. He made it very obvious that he was in love with the purple-haired boy that sat close to him. “Alex, where are you from”. Mr. Hathaway asked. “I’m from the middle part of Australia”. Alex lied. He doesn’t know why the man asked, but he was not going to tell him where he was really from.

I fix myself. We park and exited the car. We enter the elevator and go to the 12th floor of the building. "Mr. Brooklyn!" An old man shouted. Hilary's dad and the old man bro hug each other and shake hands. "Here's my daughter Hilary." I bowed and shake hands. "And here's my son, Richard." A five-foot and nine inches tall guy wearing a mask extends his hand. I shake hands with him. "So let's talk about the wedding?" My eyes almost got out in my eye socket. "WEDDING!?"

Aridian crouched near the bed and pulled out a small wooden toy from underneath it. I turned it over in my hands. Engraved on the bottom, small letters. *E.H.* I looked up at Aridian. "Hawthorne?" He nodded. Alexander was staring at the initials, and something shifted in his face. "You recognize them," I said. "I recognize the handwriting," he said quietly. Alexander explained the initials belonged to a child mentioned once, in an old story his grandfather told him. A name that was never spoken out loud. "What story?" I asked.