Grayson Hawthorne Book Mga Nobela at Kwento

Pushing the door open without knocking first her scent hits my nose and I take a large inhale, it's like a drug I can't get enough of! The cabin is empty like I guessed it would be and I take a step inside to have a look around, the scent after her is still fresh and it can't be too long since she where in here. Hearing fast footsteps behind me I turn to see Grayson comes running inside in his wolf and sniffing around the cabin. "what is it?" I mind link him but he doesn't answer, it's like he is obsessed and sniffs around in the whole cabin before he turns around and starts to sniff on the ground.

The forest pressed in around me — black trees, wet leaves, the faint hum of danger beneath the quiet. Something flickered in the distance. A shadow that didn’t belong. I crouched low, heart pounding, and drew my blade. The sound of footsteps echoed faintly. Then a whisper — my name. “Nora.” I spun, blade up — only to find Grayson stepping out from behind a tree. He looked different — older somehow. His hair was longer, his face more tired than I remembered. But his eyes — those storm-grey eyes — were the same. “What the hell are you doing here?” I hissed, lowering my weapon but not by much.

Grayson hastily stretched on tiptoe, pulling all the books off the shelf and placing them on the table. “...” Lalisa glanced at Mrs. Grayson’s urgent actions, feeling uncomfortable. Mrs. Grayson stood there, rapidly flipping through each book one by one. Lalisa followed her, helping to turn the pages. Their eyes fell on a book in the stack of books on the table. That book was right in Mrs. Grayson’s hand.

Or was it my fate? Hawthorne crouches down in front of me, pulling out a first-aid kit. “Let me see,” he says softly, rolling up my sleeve to inspect the burn. His hands are gentle as he applies the ointment, his brows furrowed in concentration. I watch him, unable to comprehend why his touch feels so… tender. His sleeves are rolled up, revealing veins running across his muscular forearms. “You shouldn’t apologize for something like that,” he says, breaking the silence. His voice is quieter now, almost reassuring. “Even if it costs you everything—even if it costs your job. Stand your ground. Understand?”

“I’m not letting him take advantage of your confusion.” Hamish sighed. “He is not confused. He is awakening. There is a difference.” Grayson growled again, but I reached out and tugged gently on his sleeve. “Let me try.” He looked down at me, conflict burning in his eyes. For once, he didn’t immediately argue. He exhaled slowly and took a step back. “Fine,” he said. “But I’m standing right here.” Hamish nodded and moved to the open space in the center of the library. He motioned for me to join him. I walked toward the circle marked by faint runes embedded in the stone floor. They glowed softly under my feet.

They had both exhausted their lives. A headshot as I realized, but they couldn't lie here long. The warm bodies almost steamed in the cold rain. Besides, the heavy rain had not yet washed away the blood. And when I saw that scene there in front of me, it shocked me more than I thought possible. Until that moment, I hadn't believed that seeing a washed Proles victim on a dissection table or out here right after the crime could make that much difference. I was wrong. Look, Gracy, the funny dog. I called it plush because it looks so plush.

Taylor’s hand formed into a fist and his veins popped out of his forehead. Grayson’s face was expressionless, he walked into his room and locked the door. He turned on the lights and walked towards the bookshelves, He traced his finger across the books until his finger met a brown leather diary. He pulled it out and walked towards his study table. After lightly patting the dust off the book, Grayson opened it.

Grayson lays me down a distance from the bank beneath the cover if branches, concern in his eyes and he held me close, yet I could tell that he was still preoccupied with whatever it us that agitates him so. "Stay here" he says getting up from where I sat. I thought about staying put as he asked, but then thought better of it, needing to see what made him suddenly so upset. There wasn't any need for secrets among us. I do my best to tip toe back the way I saw him disappear, hiding just behind a small tree with a wide trunk when I spot him near the bank his arm outstretched. An oak colored hawk lands on his forearm, looking oddly more comfortable than one should look in the presence of a pred

Coward. I didn’t hesitate. With a roar, I slammed my shoulder into the heavy wood. It cracked off its hinges and burst open with a satisfying crash. Papers flew, books tumbled from shelves, and Grayson, seated behind his polished desk, looked up with the calm arrogance of a man who thought he still had the upper hand. “Ah,” he said, slowly rising, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt like we were about to have a damn business meeting. “The little pup finally finds his bite.”

Grayson didn't let him keep it. He stepped forward once, twice, until Lennon had to tip his head back to hold eye contact. Up close he smelled like cedar and something musky. “You were late,” Grayson said, almost softly. “I… Sorry, traffic.” That was a lie. Grayson's gaze dipped to Lennon's mouth, then lower, lingering on the faint red mark peeking above his collar. When he spoke again, his voice was... deeper. “Traffic,” he repeated in an almost amused tone. “Interesting.”