Hawthorne Man Novels & Stories

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!”

world had returned with a vengeance: the rhythmic slap of the tide against the Maine cliffs, the wind whispering through the hemlocks, and the chaotic, unscripted chatter of people in the streets. Ethan Hawke stood on the porch of a small, hand-built cabin on the outskirts of Gull’s Reach. His "strong frame" was leaner now, his "muscular" arms hardened by a year of felling timber and hauling stone. He wore a simple wool shirt, the soot of the "City of Stone" long since washed away by the salt of the Atlantic. The Economy of Grace

the mustachioed man asked, his eyes teasing me, and he stuck out his tongue as his eyes glanced at my breasts. "Some kind of blowjob?" another man said. I rolled my eyes lazily, taking back the glass I had served them. "Are you serious? I asked, sir, and there's no extra charge," I said firmly. They laughed contentedly, as if relieved to have teased me like this. I took a deep breath, hoping they would be kind enough to answer my question. "He's Horton, a notorious troublemaker in this village. He's been in jail ever since he killed his father. As soon as he got out, he killed his cousin too," the man with the mustache explained.

I tossed Marie's death certificate and the hospital invoices at his face, saying, "That's right. I've gone mad, but I'm still better than you, you idiot. Why don't you see for yourself who was killed in that accident?" Zachary picked up the hospital invoices. The moment he saw the patient's name, his eyes widened. Marie's name was printed on every single one of them.

Lucian went perfectly still, his eyes dropping to my hand and then snapping back up to my face. "True," I whispered, leaning in close enough that the scent of his cedarwood cologne wrapped around me. I kept a polite, adoring smile on my lips, but my voice was pure, transactional ice. "But we'll put that aside for now. Right now, I'm going to help you solve your problem." I withdrew my hand and turned gracefully toward the door just as the chauffeur pulled it open. I stepped out into the crisp Hudson Valley air. Standing at the top of the sweeping stone steps was a tall, impeccably dressed older man with sharp features and silver hair. Mr. Hawthorne, the Blackwood family butler. His hands wer

Thayer had spent every night in bars, his body deteriorating day by day. To chase thrill after thrill, he manipulated every woman he met, never using protection. Each conquest ended the same way: he disappeared afterward, refusing to acknowledge any of them.

I purred in satisfaction. He didn't smell like a pack member, and I highly doubt he'll be a human, cause humans don't come here. So who is this man? He jerked away from me as though he just regained himself, then he started shifting. He was shifting into something else, not a wolf. "Run. Get away from me as fast as possible." He shouted. He staggered back, creating some space between us. I walked towards him, whimpering softly. I just met you, I can't leave now. You're my mate.

Wendy said with a catch in her throat, "Our families are long-time friends. You can't just leave me like this. Otherwise, I'll tell my father!" Lucian finally caved in. He said to me, "Nina, I'll take her to the hospital. Stay here and have fun. I'll be back soon." I nodded, hoping that they would leave quickly, so I could go home and rest too. Once they all left, I was planning to leave too. Right at this moment, the doors to the room open. A group of homeless men entered! They immediately locked their eyes on me and snickered lewdly. "That woman wasn't lying. Not only are we getting paid, but we also get to sleep with such a gorgeous woman! We're in luck!"

My wolf settled the moment his scent reached me, pine smoke and metal and him. “You should be resting,” he said, voice low. “So should you.” He came up beside me, close enough that our arms brushed. We stood in silence for a long moment, watching the moon rise high above the trees, silver and wide and almost too bright. “It’s beautiful tonight,” I said. “Because we’re alive to see it.” I turned my head and looked at him—really looked. He had a cut on his jaw, dried blood at the corner of his mouth, but his eyes held no pain. Just clarity.

----- The rain hasn’t stopped by morning. It falls in sheets against the windshield as I drive toward the docks, the kind of place where sunlight never lingers long. Hale’s warning echoes in my head, but I silence it with the engine’s growl. Some things you can’t outsource. Some debts you settle face-to-face. The warehouse sits at the edge of the harbor, metal siding rusted, windows blacked out. Two men guard the door, broad and armed. They straighten when I approach. “I’m here for DeLuca,” I say.