Avery Hawthorne Novels & Stories

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.

Yours, Ethan ********* At Hawthorne Court, London, the afternoon light poured softly through the tall windows of Ava’s office, gilding the polished mahogany desk and the contract spread open upon it. The faint scent of lilies from the lobby drifted in through the cracked door, mixing with the aroma of fresh coffee.

Hunter: The clearing was quiet, clean even. And that was the worse part. It was too clean for a place where we had lost our men. They were two of our best warriors. And for them to be laying on the ground, dead, like they were… I couldn’t process it. There was no scent trail. No prints. Just stillness and the faint metallic tang of death. I pinched the bridge of my nose as I tried to make sense of it, but nothing clicked…

He decided female warriors with their beautiful faces were the best ones to guide his new warriors to Valhalla because they would be better able to convince the fallen soldiers to come with them. His decision made, he filled the rain with his essence and as the rain fell from the sky soaking the dead shield maidens; they rose, becoming immortal warriors, wings spray from their backs and they flew to Valhalla to meet their new father. Odin ordered them to travel to battle fields and gather powerful warriors for his army and bring them to him, to wait in his hall Valhalla until the final battle.

So, what he did next was simply wave at all of them and introduce himself to turn the situation from becoming less awkward. “My name is Calhoun Hawthorne, and I am a mage from the Burham mountains. I am here at the invitation of your archon, Valencia and my recently turned good friend, Dominic. I mean no harm to you and I am merely here to acquaint myself with the cultures, customs, and traditions of the werewolf community.” Valencia raised an eyebrow at the way he called Dominic his ‘friend’ but only named her as the archon. ‘Asshole, you are here because I permitted you.’ She thought in her head but didn't say anything out loud. They had just witnessed a blood bath and she didn't want anot

I said with a grin. We couldn’t talk much after that because the teacher started class. We were continuing to read The Scarlet Letter by Nathaniel Hawthorne. It’s a depressing book about a colonial woman who has a child out of wedlock, and is shunned. I don’t know why English teachers insist on having students read such depressing literature. Still, I heard one of the other classes was doing The Crucible by Arthur Miller. Somehow, Scarlet Letter seems less depressing than a bunch of girls faking possession. Maybe.