It was amazing. My cries of pleasure affirmed that fact.
I wokeat dawn and lay there a bit, watching Hail sleep. This male was so loving, so caring, so amazing. I couldn’t believe he belonged to me.
His eyes opened and he gave me a shy, tusky grin. Shy after all we’d done last night?
He was so cute, I had to kiss him. And kisses soon led to…
Eventually, we had to get moving.
“Come on,” I said, kissing his chest before sliding to the edge of the bed. “We’ve got work to do.”
He groaned, watching with obvious appreciation as I climbed out of bed and began gathering clothes to dress in after my shower. “You’re everything, mate.” Wonder softened his voice. “Truly.”
“So are you.” I went over to the bed and leaned close, giving him a lingering kiss. This magnificent male was mine now, completely and utterly.
By the time we’d showered, dressed, and made ourselves presentable, the sun was beginning to shine. We’d spent most of the night lost in each other, and while I didn’t regret a single moment, I knew we needed to return to reality.
The ride into town felt different. Not just because of what we’d shared, but because I felt fundamentally changed. Stronger. More complete. Ready to face whatever Will Carmichael and his people could throw at us.
I was done hiding. Done running. Done letting fear dictate my choices.
It was time to take control of my life, once and for all.
But when we reached the pottery barn, my newfound confidence evaporated. The front door hung open, swaying in the morning breeze. Through the opening, I could see chaos—shelves overturned, pottery smashed, our carefully organized workspace destroyed.
They’d sent a message.
Nowhere was safe any longer.
Chapter 20
Hail
The sight of my pottery barn’s destroyed interior hit me hard. I stood frozen in the doorway, unable to process the devastation spread out in front of me like a battlefield.
Everything I’d built, everything I’d created over months of careful work was gone. Shelves that had once displayed my pottery lay overturned and broken, their contents smashed into glittering fragments across the floor. Glazed pieces I’d spent weeks perfecting were reduced to colorful shards that crunched under my boots as I stepped inside.
The blue-green vase I’d been working on for Allie’s birthday next month lay in pieces near the overturned wheel. Months of experimenting with that particular glaze combination, ruined. The set of matching bowls that had taken me three attempts to get perfectly symmetrical had also been destroyed. Even the simple practice pieces from Allie’s first lessons were scattered and broken.
I walked slowly through the room with Allie’s hand on my lower back, clenching my shirt, making my way to the back room with the kiln. There, my knees nearly buckled. They’d taken hammers to it, cracking the firebox and destroying theheating elements I’d spent weeks calibrating. The heart of my workspace, the tool that transformed clay shapes into art, lay in ruins like a wounded beast.
“Oh, Hail, I’m so sorry.” Allie’s voice sounded hollow behind me, thick with unshed tears.
I couldn’t speak. My throat had closed off entirely as I surveyed the wreckage of everything I’d worked for. This barn had been my sanctuary, the place where I’d found my voice through art when words failed me. Pottery wheels overturned, tools scattered and bent, clay trampled into the floorboards. It would take months to rebuild, if I could even find the heart to try again.
The workshop I’d dreamed of since childhood, the space where Allie had learned to trust in creation again, reduced to rubble. They hadn’t just destroyed my pottery, they’d violated the sacred space where we’d built our love.
“This is my fault,” Allie said, her voice breaking as she stepped carefully through the debris. “All of this destruction, because of me.”
That snapped me out of my shock faster than a slap. I turned to see tears streaming down her face, her hands pressed to her mouth in horror. She looked so small standing among the wreckage, so fragile, like she might shatter into pieces to match my broken pottery.
“No.” I crossed to her in three quick strides, pottery crunching under my boots as I pulled her into my arms. “We don’t know who did this. It c-c-could be kids. Vandals.”
“It’s him. I know it. He’s sending a message.”
“Then this is Will Carmichael’s fault, not you-you-yours.”
“They wouldn’t be here if not for me.” Her words came out muffled against my shirt, her body trembling with suppressed sobs. “Your beautiful work, your art… It’s all destroyed because they’re hunting me.”
