Nash Hawthorne Novels & Stories

Nina’s pov- I took a bite out of the red apple that I held in my hand as I rummaged through the fridge. I didn’t know what I was looking for, but I hoped to find something that would ease the hunger that the three apples I had previously ate couldn’t do. the hunger was intense, I don’t think I have ever been this hungry in my entire life, I didn’t think it was possible to feel such hunger when you have in fact put something into your stomach. I huffed slamming the fridge shut with my frustration. I’ve ate a cheese sandwich and three God damn apples and still I felt so uncomfatably hungry like nothing would please my appetite.

How did I manage to fall asleep in the back of a stranger’s car? “Mr. Hawthorne is waiting for you inside.” I notice the tag on his jacket, but he’s already walking away before I can ask questions. I take a deep breath as I turn. It’s huge. No. Massive. The Hawthorne’s mansion looks like something from the front page of the Exclusive magazines my step-father piled up in his office. He always bragged about owning one of the fancy houses one day. I had no idea where he expected the money to come from.

Professor Nathan Hale – Advanced Romantic Literature. I’d stared at it for a full minute, heart thudding in disbelief. No. It couldn’t be him. Nathan left years ago—after graduation, after our parents’ awkward marriage made us step-siblings and roommates in a house full of tension and late-night glances that lingered too long. But when he walked into the lecture hall, tall and effortlessly confident in that fitted navy shirt and charcoal slacks, I knew. It was him. Older. Broader. Sexier. Dangerous.

Now Noah and the three of them are sitting in front of the judge's table. After all, Noah's actions violated the law. "So, Noah killed Mrs. Zoe?" asked the judge with a probing look. "That's right, Sir. He killed the best teacher in our school," The principal replied then looked at Noah scornfully. "Tch, the best mistress you mean?" Noah asked disdainfully. "Watch your manners, Noah!" Mr. Zackary was angry at Noah's words.

This is something new. Along with his clear, crisp words I sense a series of feelings and images filtered through the bond between Hawthorne and me and in a blink, it becomes instantly obvious why Hawthorne both distrusts and abhors the elder speaking to us with so little consideration or respect. Several times Thorne has seen this asshole insult Parris for the fur on his ears, or the length of his claws, calling him a “mangy mutt” that should have been “drowned at birth,” all because his mother was a wolf hybrid. It seems that this elder has just as much prejudice against all people who are not pure witches as the Brotherhood of the Sun is bigoted against all people who are not quite human.

She stopped and read aloud: “Nathaniel Hawthorne was more than just another author who wrote about Salem. He lived in Salem. Most of his stories are set in Salem. Most of the buildings he described in Salem are integral to his stories, and many of them still stand here today. “More importantly, Hawthorne had a direct personal connection to some of the events and characters in his work. His most famous work, for example, The Scarlet Letter, tells the story of a woman, Hester Prynne, who is imprisoned and scorned by her peers for her adulterous behavior. Hawthorne had a more direct connection to these events than one would think. His real grandfather, John Hawthorne, was one of the principal j

I wasn’t sure I could force the words out of my mouth, relive all of it in the telling. “I don’t know where Hawthorne was while he was supposed to be dead,” I said, because that at least was both true and not all that important to me. The asshole had faked his own death two years before, disappeared, and only returned shortly before I came on the scene. And I hadn’t known him before then. “He mentioned Seattle. I think he was in Washington part of the time. But that’s all I know.” “Not all that helpful,” Matthew said. “And also not the most pressing issue. How did you end up working for Kimball?”

Her legs still pace until she collapses onto the edge of her bed, a sigh escaping her lips. Another thing Nathanael hates about Secs, they have a flair for the dramatic-always whining and crying when things don't go their way. Instead of working for something, they attempt to pray it into existence. He's witnessed the power of prayer first hand, but he harbors no sympathy for those that don't fight for what they want. This one seems to be in the latter category. Throwing his arm back over his eyes, he zones out while this new charge of his rummages around her room.

But Nathaniel held his head high, sensing an inexplicable familiarity to this place. "Good day to you all, I am Nathaniel Hawthorne," Nathaniel stated, his voice confident. Gasps and sighs of shock rippled through the room as the packmates murmured amongst themselves. Suddenly, an elderly man stood up. "Pardon our manners; we rarely have visitors," August said, his eyes warm. "My name is August; I'm one of the elders who run this pack." Nathaniel nodded, his legs aching. He took a seat amongst them, causing Emilia's eyes to widen in surprise. She remained standing.

Honestly, Nanny Grace was an incredible cook. As I chewed, my mind drifted back to what Devon had said to me in the car that day. “I’ve known Ryder to be a very cold, ruthless and dangerous man because of the trauma he went through in the past. Mr. Hawthorne… he's not someone who shows interest in women. In fact, he generally dislikes them.” The memory made my fork pause mid-air. Ryder is known to dislike women and doesn't like having women in his home, how come he has Nanny, and has female maids. Hmm…