Page 41 of The Pack Next Door (The Wolfverse #4)

Briar

This close to the peak of my heat, I didn’t expect to get much sleep.

Waking up after having a whole night uninterrupted by feverish or sexy dreams had me blinking in surprise.

The world came to me in pieces. A ceiling that wasn’t the same as my old bedroom’s.

Light pouring in through the massive picture window at the end of the bed, letting me know where I was. And them.

Mads had obviously ignored my advice and was snuggled right into my shoulder blades, his breath fanning over my skin with every slow exhale.

Jace had taken up the other side, the heavy weight of his arm anchoring me to the bed.

Asleep, his blond hair fanning over the pillow, there was no evidence of the silver-haired demon of last night.

I flushed from embarrassment, not heat, as I remembered how it’d gone down.

Mads held me like a sweet treat offered up on a tray, and Jace had…

My thighs rubbed together, the skin a little sensitive from beard rash, but nothing else.

My clit made clear she was receptive for more, but not insisting.

Which meant I had to get the hell out of bed.

Dealing with Tom, finding a way forward, that was the point of this trip.

Maybe he’d be prepared to make another set of vessels?

I could delay the customers who missed out on this round, work out if they wanted a refund or to wait for their pieces.

Gently, I eased Jace’s arm away, shoving my pillow under it to replace me, and sure enough, he pulled it close in a cuddle.

That had my lips twisting in a smile that hurt as much as it amused me.

It wasn’t as if I hadn’t become accustomed to the idea of not having mates.

My life had been fine. No, better than fine, when I accepted the fact and worked out what else I wanted to do.

It’s just… Some teenage part of me was swooning that an alpha as hot as Jace was her fated mate.

She wanted to be the pillow, resting her head on his chest, listening to his heart thud, knowing that she belonged to him.

But I wasn’t a kid anymore.

Relationships were complicated and honestly, it’d be a relief when I was able to walk away from this one. The guys were a distraction from what I needed to do. Pulling on some fresh clothes and dragging a brush through my hair before leaving the guest house to find the pottery studio.

In the summer, Tom was forced to work in the early morning.

You could still work clay in the heat of the day, but the clay dried faster and the temperature made things unbearable.

Sure enough, as I walked over the grass towards the studio, I could hear his radio playing.

The door was propped open to let the breeze in, but I stopped in the doorway when I saw what he was doing.

Bent over the wheel, strong hands pressed the clay down to centre it, then they went to work, creating another bowl.

I watched with fascination, having no ability myself.

Tom tried to teach me, then had to laugh as I found it near impossible to shape vessels that didn’t collapse almost as soon as they were formed.

Making the thing wasn’t the pleasant part for me.

Arranging, tweaking placements until something peaceful and harmonious clicked into place inside me, that’s what I liked to do.

He called it endless fussing when I did that with the finished pieces in his studio, making clear we both had our roles to play.

“You can come in.” When he glanced up, I moved, worried that he’d mess up his work, but Tom knew how to create a vessel by feel. He’d been making pieces since he was a young man and now he was in his sixties. “No point hanging around in the doorway.”

“What’re you working on?” I asked. Too direct for most of the artisans I worked with, but not Tom. He didn’t like you using ten words when five would do, and I earned myself a nod for my directness.

“Not another bulk order.” My mouth fell open, my heart feeling like it stopped beating. White hot sensation washed through me, but this time it wasn’t my heat. “It’s a good thing you came out this way.”

The wheel stopped spinning and he grabbed a cutting wire and sliced the piece off the wheel head, then shifted it to a wooden bat to dry.

Most potters would’ve worked hard to ensure there were no fingerprints left in the process, or smoothed them off when the vessel grew leather hard.

Not Tom. Imperfections were left as they were and so he created something unique to him.

Which is why I loved his work so much.

He stared into my eyes, a slight frown forming.

“Saved me from coming to the city and having this talk.” The bat was placed on a shelf, plastic sheets stopping them from drying out too fast and cracking. “Not the sort of thing you do over the phone, that’s what I told Hun.”

This felt like a rejection of sorts, like he was trying to work out a way to let me down easy.

“I’m grateful for the opportunities you’ve given me, love.” That came out almost a growl. “Don’t think I’m not.” He washed his hands in a nearby sink, the clay water splashing into a bucket below. “But as I told you when we first started this thing, sheep farming is my job. Pottery is my passion.”

A towel was produced and he worked to get all of the residue off his hands before coming to stand before me.

“That bulk order? It was always going to be the last one I’d do of that size.

” I stared at him mutely, willing him not to say what was surely coming next.

“Damn near killed my hands.” Thick fingers and swollen knuckles flexed and I could see the range of movement was limited.

I felt a flush of shame then, feeling responsible for their state.

“That’s why the bloody sheep got out. Couldn’t work on the fence like I was supposed to. ”

“So I’ll get you some help.” My words came out in a great rush. “That contractor you talked about.”

“No.”

“Not to help you to make more pieces, but to give you a break.”

His lips twitched up at the corner, the shake of his head the only warning I got as his hand landed on my shoulder.

“And how are you going to swing fixing fences as a business expense?” Tom shot me a meaningful look.

“You can’t.” I sucked in a breath, but he cut me off.

“And don’t go saying you’ll pay for it yourself.

” A squeeze and his hand was gone again as he turned to stare at the hills beyond.

“You’re a good girl. That’s why I agreed to give this a shot, but the freight issue?

That was just the icing on a really shitty cake.

” That earned me a sidelong look. “One I’ve got no intention of taking another bite from. ”

I didn’t want to think about the customers who wouldn’t get their orders filled. Not their disappointment or their frustration. Stay here, I urged my mind. Stay here and focus?—

“As soon as something becomes a job,” Tom said, “all the fun goes out of it. This used to be the place I came to relax in. Take out my stress on the clay and not on Honey.” He shook his head.

“She’s made clear that I’ve been a right pain in the arse and that I need to make a decision.

I can make you happy or my wife happy, and Briar… ”

I knew what he was going to say. I smiled even though it hurt, because I would’ve done the same in a heartbeat. My hand shot out, grabbing his, feeling the grit of residual clay as I gave it a squeeze.

“It’s OK, really. I get it.” A little frown and then I smiled.

“Well, sort of. I turned the thing I really liked doing into a job and it makes me happy every damn day I do it, but…” My eyes went unfocussed as I stared at the grass, trying to imagine what it would be like to enter the staging area where we photographed all the new pieces.

Hating every second of that and doing it anyway?

“If it stopped being fun, I wouldn’t want to do it either. ”

“Figured you’d work it out.” Tom snorted.

“Look, love, selling to you is a lot better than dealing with the dickheads at the farmer’s market.

” That’s where I first came across his work.

I was passing through a town and dropped into the tiny market to browse the stalls.

While there was lots of amazing food and craft, his was a cut above the rest. “But it's gonna be mixed lots of whatever it is I’ve made. I can’t give you any sort of certainty on form or glaze or even production. ”

His lips curved into a real smile.

“My lecturer always said I was more of an artist than a craftsperson. That was kind of an insult back then, but…” He nodded. “When you get as old as I am, you work out that you have to accept who you are, not fight it.”

“Of course.” Proud I kept my voice steady, my mind raced, trying to think of solutions, but I came up with nothing.

Instead, I focussed on Tom’s expression.

The relief there was palpable, smoothing away all the lines on his face.

“I’ll be grateful for whatever you choose to sell me and I’m sorry again?—”

“Don’t go apologising for some other dickhead’s stuff up. Just send those boys of yours around next time to collect the crates of pots.”

That twinkle in his eye dispelled some of the rush of negative emotion I was feeling. He might be a grumpy old bastard, but he was honest to a fault about what he thought. I shook my head, my own lips twitching.

“Tell you what, I’ll butt out of your pottery business if you keep out of my love life.” He was about to say something, but I pointed my finger at him. “Every mention of a romantic relationship means you owe me another piece.”

“Alright, alright, if you can’t see what’s right in front of you, it's not for me to point that out.” He winked. “You’ll work it out when you’re ready. So, how do we move forward?”

Action, decisions, do something, that was what my heart beat, but I was still making sense of it. Being in business meant dealing with unforeseen circumstances, but this? I’d never had to tackle a fuck up this epic before.

“Get the insurance claim processed and the money to you.” I nodded, starting to see a way forward. “Then…” He stared at me, obviously invested in the next step, but I was still trying to formulate it. “Then we’ll go from there.”

“Got it.” He eyed the sky. “Well, I’ve gotta go and check one of the windmills. The weather bureau says we’re gonna get some rain, but that never bloody happens. If I don’t keep the sheep watered?—”

“You’ll have failed at your job.” I nodded. “OK, you go do yours and I’ll do mine.”

But the weight of that hit me as soon as we parted.

Every step rammed home what I’d done. Pushing Tom to increase production at the expense of his physical and mental health.

Got loyal clients buzzed about a product I could no longer offer.

I’d fucked up, that hit me right in the chest. My heart?

It kept on beating, though, getting faster and faster until I got back to the guest house.

Fur sprung up along my arms, claws forming, because in the wolf’s mind, she could fight her way through whatever danger we were in.

But that’s not how it worked.

“There she is…” Jace came out of the bathroom in just a pair of shorts, but his warm smile, his golden good looks, were a slap in the face.

I’d been spending my time messing with him and his brothers, when I should’ve gotten into the car and drove over here the minute I heard about the shipment.

“Breakfast was delivered this morning. Come and have something to eat.”

“I…”

“Briar.” Gideon strode across the floor, his hands on my arms the only thing grounding me. “Whatever it is, it’ll be OK. Just take a breath and tell me.”