Tobias Hawthorne Novels & Stories

“Do not think of it in such common terms, June,” he whispered, his voice smooth as silk but heavy as lead. “You are looking at this through the lens of human morality, but we are wolves. We are creatures of destiny and design.”He stepped even closer, his heat radiating through my thin, silver dress, a cruel contrast to the damp stone wall at my back.

Atticus is a ghost, he's not real. The room is almost pitch black save for the light coming from underneath the door. I still have to rely on my sense of touch to find the nearest wall. I don't have time to panic because I'm waving my hands in the air, hoping I don't trip over something. When I touch what feels like the frame of the door, my hands scan anxiously for the knob. Once it's open, I can see a little better through the dim light of the stained glass window. I cautiously peak my head into the hallway and from the looks of it, Atticus isn't here. The entire house is back to being old and abandoned.

She tried to relax and clear her mind. Nathaniel pointed out certain buildings and told her their history along the way. She had to admit that it took her mind off the stone. She enjoyed the scenery as they drove into the countryside. Nathaniel had told her that Barnaby lived in the woods and had no neighbors for miles, so she wasn't surprised by the countryside they saw. She also wasn't surprised when they turned down a well-maintained dirt road.

"Nice to meet you, Tobias." "Please call me Toby, ma'am," Tobias replied politely. Tobias was a big man but not in a scary way. He seemed friendly and mild-mannered, almost meek. His dark skin was tanned brown, and he had short wavy black hair and eyes so brown that they looked black. I didn't even realize that my husband had a security team, and when I looked at the soft-spoken giant, it made me wonder why Paul would choose Tobias to head up security.

C H A P T E R 3 : T H E L E T T E R A year later. His name is Toby Sanders. A twenty-five-year-old guy, a successful horror novelist went missing. Everyone thought he was doing his usual research, finding mysteries for his upcoming book. Sadly, it is not the case at all as he turned up dead the next day in the lake one hundred miles outside the city. He suffered two stabs on the back before he was drowned.

As much as I wanted to cry with how hurt I was feeling something clicked inside me. I stood up from the table, I saw Nick's head turn. “I am sorry Mr. Thorn if my background does not suit what you believe is good enough for your son but that does not stop me from loving him and does not stop him from loving me. Your son has been the most kind and gentle gentleman I have ever met. I did not know when I fell in love with him that first night we met, that he had money. Once I did know every fear in me told me I was not good enough for him because I am from a different class, but Nick showed me that it doesn’t matter because we are truly in love.”

They stopped a few feet away, taking in the sight of me: naked, collared and presented like livestock on the island. “Well, well,”The first man drawled. “Gabriel, you weren’t exaggerating.” Marcus laughed, low and filthy, circling slowly to get a better view of my plugged ass. “Hawthorne, you bred him already? Greedy bastard. You promised to wait for us” Mr. Hawthorne chuckled, He kept one hand resting possessively on my ass. “He’s just learning. Took two loads this morning and came hands-free both times. Gentlemen, meet Elias.

THE HAWTHORNE'S MANSION "So up till now, you don't have a valuable reason why Claw showed up that day at their engagement dinner and even after their arranged marriage was canceled, he hasn't shown up until now?" Mr Salvatore Delm questioned as he appeared like he hadn't had enough sleep in days which he hadn't had. Both of the men precisely, Mr. Salvatore Delm and Mr. Hawthorne. The sudden appearance of Claw, the deranged and psychotic son of the Wellington's was not something that anyone was supposed to be intrigued about.

I explained. “And who are you?” “I am the hired hand of the Order. That is all you need to know.” I stated as I calmly finished my drink. “And what order would that be?” He asked, annoyed, “Thanks to you I lost my supper.” He sighed, staring off into the crowd. "You should know we, after all, have taken out so many of your kin," as he stared at me blankly, I added, " it’s the ancient order of Valhalla Bridge.”

Or was it my fate? Hawthorne crouches down in front of me, pulling out a first-aid kit. “Let me see,” he says softly, rolling up my sleeve to inspect the burn. His hands are gentle as he applies the ointment, his brows furrowed in concentration. I watch him, unable to comprehend why his touch feels so… tender. His sleeves are rolled up, revealing veins running across his muscular forearms. “You shouldn’t apologize for something like that,” he says, breaking the silence. His voice is quieter now, almost reassuring. “Even if it costs you everything—even if it costs your job. Stand your ground. Understand?”