Alexander Hawthorne Novels & Stories

"He's coming, but, when I can't tell you." Dreading the next few days couldn't happen. I had to be calm. Getting the packs together was going to be hard. We were the biggest pack in America. We stayed in the HOH Rainforest of Washington State. Seattle was a little over four hours away. There was also Port Angeles and Oylimpia. Near us stood Mt. Olympus. Not the one in Greece, but the same name. Suddenly I froze. "There's no way. Is there?" Hercules said startled. "It has to be a coincidence. They were named many years apart "

I took his hand as a barrage of his thoughts intruded into my mind. I could hear his sorrow at upsetting me earlier. I could hear his apprehension at our meetup, but excitement that I actually got into the car in the first place. He was worried about this cemetery, hoping that it was cool enough for me. He knew that I loved cemeteries, and this was the oldest cemetery in Maine. One that he hoped would pique my interest if nothing else. The amount of things this man knows about me that no one else should know is unnerving.

His presence filled the space before he even spoke. “Mrs. Blackthorn,” he said smoothly, his tone refined, charming even. “I hope I’m not intruding. I do intend to come on time when it is meetings like this.” I gestured for him to sit. “Not at all. You have me at a disadvantage, though. I don’t believe we’ve met. And given your scent, I can tell that you are not from here, Alpha.” He smiled, slow and confident, the kind of smile that didn’t quite reach the eyes. “Forgive me. Alpha Lorenzo D’Amaris. But I choose to go by Mr. D’Amaris when it is amongst humans.”

I let out a soft snort before quickly covering my mouth. “What?” He chuckles. “It’s true, isn’t it? Adrian Hawthorne. The oldest Hawthorne brother is a recluse billionaire. I hear,” he leans closer, “that he’s scary. One look from him and you’ll wither.” “How’s he like?” He asks. My brows shoot up as I fail to mask my brief, racing panic. “I know you’re closer to the youngest brother, but you must’ve seen Adrian before, right?” My head dips in a gesture that resembles a nod.

Darragh chided. Ignoring the taunt, the man in suit went on to read from his book. “Ex Irish Navy and Intelligence operative…Expert military tactician and undercover agent…Captain decorated with 2 stars for following protocol and getting the Irish rebel group; Faux to surrender. Dead at 35, survived by wife, Niamh…killed in action by terrorists on a mission to retrieve plutonium core” the man finished, looking up at Darragh immediately. “You know the thing about Wikipedia, G****e…?” he asked. “Anybody can write shit on ‘em” the man informed, straightening his suit as Darragh stared at him. “Look at…they made you look like a hero and a man of valor when in reality you are nothing more than a

She was always right. Now, under the hot spray of the shower, I thought of baby Alexander. He deserved better. He deserved security, a future. And if swallowing my pride meant that, then I’d do it. Hawthorne’s home... tomorrow. All for you, baby Alexander. It’s all for you.

If my wolf hadn’t been quick enough, he’d be barely more than ash beneath my feet. And he knows it.. Swallowing hard, Hawthorne’s chest is heaving as he looks down at me, his eyes wide. “Couldn’t you sense who it was, Apple? Not many witches can open a portal inside the center of a packhouse, especially not one warded by Araminta Thorpe!”

He finished patting Aput’s back as they both turn to make their way into the sitting room. “So, Doc,” Sean piped up, getting everyone’s attention. “I see you with that cane, every day tell me what’s the story?” “Oh, there must be a story, we all know you can walk without it.” Miles laughed chiming in. “This cane has been passed down through the Hawthorne family for years." He raised the black and silver-plated cane, gazing at it. “It has a bear as the handle,” He showed everyone the silver bear that seemed to always be in the middle of a great roar. “I got it from my father and so forth, my great grandfather, Absalom Archibald Ichabod Hawthorne, used to tell me the story of this cane.” He lo

“…Hawthorne’s people are already moving. Damien is not going to sit still once the announcement hits.” I turned my head before I could stop myself. He ended the call and met my eyes. No surprise. No apology. “Do you know Damien?” I asked. My voice came out quieter than I wanted. He studied me for a moment. “Everyone in our world knows Damien Hawthorne.” That was all he said. Then he looked away again, as if the conversation had used up its allotted seconds. I sat very still for the rest of the landing. The name sat between us like a third passenger. Damien. Always Damien. Even here, thirty thousand feet above the ground and three thousand miles from New York, his name still found me.

Her eyes were burning daggers into the accountant. Mr Hemist coughed, his voice barely a whisper. "Yes, Mr Wellman. Alexander Hemsworth. The founder of the Hemsw—" He caught himself, flinching as he felt Madison’s gaze sear through him. He swallowed hard and corrected himself. "The founder of... the Wellman Estate," but the name Hemsworth was already out, hanging in the air like a ghost that refused to be exorcised.