Hawthorne Novels & Stories

Farrah didn’t hesitate to follow, curiously looking at the person inside the room. It was a man, shirtless, with an outstanding figure. He was holding hefty dumbbells with both hands. In Farrah’s estimate, this dumbbell probably weighs gigantic. The man finally noticed Twilight and Farrah. With a distorted face, he screeched. “What the h*ck is your problem, old hag? Not even knocking! And who the hell is this woman?” Sadly, it didn't affect Twilight even when called an Old Hag. She just tilted her chin and said to Farrah, “Dr. Lee, the sharp-shooter of the team, Patrick.”

***Hyacinth*** The city buzzed with life, its energy reminiscent of the bustling streets back in the Philippines. The traffic was chaotic, though not as unbearable as what I was used to. Despite the honking horns and the sea of people, I felt a spark of excitement. This new city promised adventure, and I could already imagine weaving its essence into my novel. Raven has been an endless source of inspiration lately, his magnetic presence fueling my creativity, especially when it came to writing those steamy, heart-racing scenes.

Hawthorne as he sat up, massaging his neck and slowly rotating his head. Mr. Hawthorne stood up, unbuttoning his pajama top one by one. The morning light cast a vague outline, sparking curiosity within Jasmine. The shirt slipped off Mr. Hawthorne's body, revealing an impressive physique. Jasmine swallowed hard, quickly closing her eyes as Mr. Hawthorne began to walk away. Torn between admiration and embarrassment, Jasmine opened her eyes again and glanced at Mr. Hawthorne's muscular back as he widened the distance between them. She sq

The distant forests. And at the edge of the eastern ridge—a lone figure. A tawny wolf, watching in silence. He didn’t move. She didn’t call out. The wind carried no words, only peace. After a long moment, the wolf turned. Slowly, deliberately. And vanished into the dawn. --- That evening, Grace sat by the fire in the Luna’s quarters, quill in hand, parchment before her. She wrote the final page of her journal: > “Today, Johnson’s Haven opened its doors.

Carter had texted me the address along with a series of laughing emojis and the words "happy birthday you beautiful bastard." The building didn't look like much from outside. Brick facade, purple neon sign, a line of people waiting behind a velvet rope. The bouncer was huge, easily six-five, with arms like tree trunks. I walked past the line. A few people shouted complaints but I ignored them. The bouncer's expression didn't change as I approached. "Private booth," I said. "I bought it a day earlier." He looked me up and down, taking in my expensive watch and tailored shirt. "ID."

I said. “Holy shit. Maybe you really are cut out to be the Alpha.” Lucas laughed. But I just shrugged my shoulders. We were waiting for another hour before my burner phone started ringing. “Hello.” I answered. “Hi. They’re hitting a town called Sallisaw. There’s over 8,000 people in that town. They’re hitting it tonight.” Benjamin said. “We’re only about two hours away from there. We have to get moving before sundown.” I said.

His hesitation appeared to irritate the Alpha further. Harrison stammered and began to cough, clearly struggling to respond to Alpha Riel's question. The Alpha's patience wore thin, and he raised his voice, demanding a clear answer. His frustration was evident, and it was clear that he shared a trait with Hawthorne – a dislike for being kept waiting. In the end, Harrison could do nothing but nod.

Robert POV. Dr Greyson Hawthorn is a renown medical expert. He is a werewolf who lives in the gated community here in the human world. So wolves move here to get away from pack life. Instead of going rogue, they move here for it’s safer for them to wolf out amongst the humans. The community is exclusive and only wolves can live here.

There was no other choice but to face the consequences of my own actions. I turned to look at my incoming doom. The man realized we had stopped and slowed down his quick pace. The stranger adjusted his long overcoat and smoothed down his ruffled hair. The man joked, “For a moment I thought you wouldn’t turn back.” “Well?” I questioned, raising my eyebrows. “Forgive me,” drawled the stranger. “I’m Soren Hawthorne, you might have heard of me?” “Your name doesn’t ring any bells.” Hawthorne laughed, “Perhaps that’s for the best. In the habit of making a good first impression, might I know your name and the name of the little lady be

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 Blackw