Nash Hawthorne Novels & Stories

Mara’s eyes searched mine, but she said nothing more. Night came heavy and cold. The camp grew quiet, fires dwindled low, and stars flickered through the gaps in the pines. I walked alone to the edge of the forest, where shadows danced between the trunks and the wind whispered secrets I could barely hear. The earth was soft beneath my boots, the scent of pine and frost and something ancient lingering in the air. I closed my eyes and felt Nyx rise inside me, my wolf restless and wild. A gentle tug stirred deep in my belly — not pain, but a strange, unfamiliar sensation, like the first stirrings of something new and powerful.

5 seconds and instead, by the time I am walking inside, I am overcome with embarrassment and staring at my shoes as I shuffle in. I hear a voice coughing..fake in a way to catch my eye, so I look up from the floor and am prepared to laugh at myself. A smile graces my lips. I might be young, but it wasn’t like I was going to be executed for eavesdropping. Meeting Nathaniel’s eyes, I see no anger behind them. Instead he’s laughing as he introduces me to the other two in the room that I hadn’t paid any attention to. “....William and Martha Hawthorne” is all I hear from him as he waves to the others.

“Very male. Deeply irritating.” I nearly smiled. She continued. “But this is Grayson Hawthorne.” I frowned. “What is that supposed to mean?” “It means men like that do not vanish for pleasure.” She leaned forward. “He runs empires, governments call him, markets move when he sneezes. If he disappeared during the happiest moment of your life, then either he is a fool…” she paused, “or something happened.” I looked away. The problem was I had thought that too. Once. Before pride became louder.

Sir Walter Elliot, of Kellynch Hall, in Somersetshire, was a man who, for his own amusement, never took up any book but the Baronetage; there he found occupation for an idle hour, and consolation in a distressed one; there his faculties were roused into admiration and respect, by contemplating the limited remnant of the earliest patents; there any unwelcome sensations, arising from domestic affairs changed naturally into pity and contempt as he turned over the almost endless creations of the last century; and there, if every other leaf were powerless, he could read his own history with an interest which never failed. This was the page at which the favourite volume always opened:

The way back home is a blur of streets, buildings, and anonymous faces. My feet move forward almost automatically while my mind remains trapped in that cold office, where everything seemed to transform into something I can’t name. Alexander Hawthorne. I knew he’d be intimidating. There’s no way a man with his reputation wouldn’t be. The ruthless magnate, the heir who built an empire with his own handsor at least that’s what they say. A man many would call untouchable, unapproachable.

Shaking her head, she said, "But aren't you only like that because you idiotically accepted an accursed book from a nobody? You said, you don't even believe in ghosts before you got that." He sighed and took out the book which always appeared inside his pocket for several months now. The book was giving off a mysterious vibe due to its black worn-out cover featuring a faceless monster. He got it from a fake friend who had styled himself as a book collector. Nathan was a horror writer so he accepted the creepy book. His initial objective was only to look for more ideas and inspiration. Who would have thought the horror writer who never believed in ghost would suddenly start seeing creepy ghos

I made my reasons clear, his frown deepened. "I'll pay you triple than what the Remingtons are offering you. If it's money you want, I don't lack in that category." Mr Nash muttered, boasting even, a smile greeting his lips. "I'm fine with what the Remingtons pay me, it's not really about the money, it's about the family, Mr Nash. I have this particular interest in the Remingtons, I would rather focus my entire attention on the child, even though I'm paid in pennies." The pride has slowly disappeared from Mr Nash's face the moment I said that, then confused ensued. He's was probably wondering what they had that he could never offer me, simply put, it was revenge.

And this man, who had ill intentions towards Nina, embodied all of those. Hunter could not help but admire Nash. "Nash, now I no longer believe that you see Nina as just a suitable wife." Nash did not respond to Hunter's words. He left the private room and returned to Nina's side. Although Nash had not a speck of blood on him, the moment he got close, she still caught a strong whiff of blood, making her instantly nauseous. Nash frowned, "Do I smell bad?" Nina could only nod along with his words.

“Don’t be late.” ______ Hawthorne Hall was a tomb on Wednesday afternoons. Mark’s knuckles rapped softly on the heavy oak door of 214. “Enter.” Professor Thorne’s office was a dim cave of knowledge. Towering bookshelves swallowed the walls, and a single green-shaded lamp cast a pool of warm light over a massive, disorderly desk. She sat behind it, glasses perched on her nose, reading a dense-looking text. She wore a cream-colored silk blouse, the top button undone.

“ I got the message last night. Scholarship demands I top my class again this year,you know” Maya smiled. “Yeah,No pressure, huh?” He grinned. “None at all. But it’s worth it. It’s what keeps me going. --------- In the dark corner of a quiet street, a man stood alone, his face hidden in shadow. The night air was cold and still. He whispered quietly, “This is the end for Nathaniel Hawthorne. He’s going to lose everything.” Without another word, he turned and disappeared into the darkness, leaving the empty street behind.