Hawthorne Novels & Stories

My eyes remain locked onwards as the Hawthornes golden gates stand brazenly before us; elegant lettering inscribing their surname upon the large locked latch as it stands proudly, dazzling in comparison to those stood beside it amongst the green shrubbery walls. I suddenly feel a lump of spit gather at the back of my throat; my temperature fluctuating as I fight my growing anxiety while the gates swing open mechanically, our arrival anticipated while we continue down the paved driveway. Despite my dislike for the Hawthornes, I can’t help but gape at the beautiful landscape around me while their modern villa sits toweringly in it

I missed the rolling grassland of Hollowbridge, sometimes, but as autumn settled itself across Hawthorn, I had to admit that it was beautiful here, too. I’d not been into town much, only once or twice during the summer, to get some new clothes and stationary with Ezrand, most of which I’d lost before school had even started. Falmer, however, frequented the diner on the edge of town, and the one bar that Hawthorn was home to. He’d always described it with a somewhat disparaging attitude, but it sounded wonderful to me: stretching avenues lined with wide trees, warm bulbs of light strung from building to building, a small, bustling community that frequented the same coffee shop, the same diner

She glanced at Piper's hair and started dragging it. "Hey! What was that for? I worked out my ass to get that done!" "Got it!" She smiled and showed her a hairpin she took from her hair while Piper brought out a mirror from her purse and started rearranging her hair. Willow pierced her thumb with the pin, and Hazel was just staring at her with keen interest. Willow scrubbed her blood and the write-up cleaned and something else came up. *OUTSKIRT OF CROWVILLE* Was written on it.

When Officer Matthew Haldon saw the flash of orange-red in his rearview mirror, he first thought it was a fox running about in this blizzard. When he peered more closely, he realized it wasn’t a fox: it was a person. A person most decidedly stranded in a ditch on the side of the road.

I sprang from my bed, adrenaline pumping as I prepared to confront the intruder. My stance quickly relaxed, however, and a frown crossed my face when I saw who it was—Hayes Hawthorne, standing in my room shirtless. My breath caught in my throat. Holy. Fucking. Hell. Every inch of his body was sculpted like a Greek god, with sharp lines and rigid definition. A large tattoo sprawled across his upper chest and onto his left shoulder, dark and bold, forming a series of interconnected shapes that were both intricate and slightly thorny.

She decided to relax on her bed a bit, slowly she drifted off to sleep. Nathaniel Hawthorne sat in his office, lost in thought, struggling to come to terms with the mate bond he shared with the Omega. His wolf was restless, and his mind was consumed by thoughts of the Omega, more than he cared to admit. He growled, rubbing his forehead, and removed his glasses, feeling frustrated and out of control.

Axel wasn’t the type to throw his money at something so petty and childish. Axel didn’t even look up, fingers drifting lazily across the laptop mouse. He was searching for something specific, and with every scroll, he felt himself getting closer. Just as he expected, his fingers paused. His eyes locked on the name on the screen. *Hawthorne Empire.* Perfect. He clicked on it and began scrolling through the article, reading every detail carefully, as if seeing it for the first time. The Hawthorne Empire was the city’s leading name in the tech industry, renowned for designing and producing cutting-edge devices, advanced equipment,

Diego’s POV The moment I caught her scent, I didn’t think twice. Her fragrance—wild honey laced with the sharpness of wolfbane—cut through the night air like a blade through silence. I had been lingering at the edges of the mansion grounds for hours, pacing the perimeter, torn between staying hidden and answering the pull inside my chest. But when her presence shifted—when her heartbeat quickened as though it was searching for something—I couldn’t stop myself.

I asked, voice rough with exhaustion. “I think,” he said carefully, “it’s scared of what we become when we stop trying to be perfect, and just… burn together.” I smiled into his skin. “I’m not afraid,” I whispered. He kissed the top of my head. “Then neither am I.” But outside, the wind shifted. The scent of ash reached us on the air. And far in the distance… A howl rose. Not wild. Not mourning. But marching.

Ottoman on the other hand walked out of the bar after paying the bartender. Among all the days of the week, Wednesdays at Gridgehock Women’s Penitentiary was the most deadly. Aside the fact that it was the hottest in all the days; something partly on the prison system for turning off all Air conditioners and substituting it for the heat, it was the day the most dangerous and psychotic of all inmates were granted luxury to roam free in Gen Pop. For the lack of a better word, it was the day any inmate with a vendetta had the luxury of making good on his grudge and pinning it on the psychotic beings. Or better still; hire one of them to do the job for you.