Page 172 of Beau and the Beast

“That’s insane. I’ve been safe the whole time—I told you.”

“Youhaveto turn around and get Lincoln.”

“They’re not going to hurt him, Noah. They wouldn’t hurt anyone. I need to come get you and sort all of this out with NWPD.”

“He has a gun, Beau. We thought—“

Beau didn’t hear whatever else his brother said. He’d already turned to go back into the condo building, sprinting up the stairs.

* * *

The enormityof Beau’s absence settled in the middle of Wolfram’s chest like an impossible weight, threatening to press all of the air out of his body, the blood from his veins.

Even though the logical parts of himself were all screaming“He’s coming back, he’ll come back, he cares about you,”something stubborn in the pit of Wolfram’s stomach insisted that the last time he’d ever see Beau was leaving the penthouse.

Some part of him knew that this chapter of his life was over now that Beau had crossed the penthouse threshold. He knew it in his guts and his bones and his claws, the same way that he knew the curse hadn’t been lifted, the same way that he knew his days were quite literally numbered.

Beau was gone.

The staff stood assembled in the living room and Wolfram turned away from them. They seemed as crestfallen as Wolfram felt. Maybe they all had the same feeling in their bellies that he had. Maybe they all knew that for whatever reason, Beau would never be coming back.

“Aren’t you supposed to be calling the police, Geoffrey?” Wolfram said as he walked back toward his wing.

“On it,” Geoffrey said.

Wolfram heard Geoffrey’s footsteps as well as the footsteps of the others as they milled around, one of them headed to the kitchen and the other hanging back in the living room.

He could still smell Beau in the air. Wolfram wondered how long it would take the smell to dissipate and whether or not his heart would hurt as badly as it did in that moment for the entire duration it took to disappear.

Someone banged a pot in the kitchen. Violet was saying something to James that Wolfram couldn’t quite make out and Alfie barked a laugh.

“Hey, what the fuck?”

It was Song. He said it so casually that Wolfram almost didn’t notice it. But something made him turn around instead of disappearing down the hallway, and in that moment a scent wafted to his nose, tickling his palate.

It was the smell of the outdoors. Hot dog vendors on the street, exhaust fumes, smog. There was more—the masculine scent of sweat and the smell of something that was quintessentiallyBeauand yet somehow not Beau—someone like Beau, a blood relative maybe.

Even as the animal parts of his mind processed all of this, Wolfram’s logical brain was racing.

The smell of the outdoors. There was an intruder here—inthe penthouse.

Wolfram strode forward to the place where he’d last heard Song, rounding a corner just in time to see a tall young man land a cruel blow across Song’s face.

Before Wolfram could react, Alfie was there—had been standing just steps away the entire time—and he rushed at the man. The stranger had caught sight of Wolfram and it was clear from the fear in his eyes that he was no longer acting on logic. Alfie reached for him and the man caught him by the middle, taking him hard to the floor.

Wolfram was in the air before he knew what was happening to him. The powerful legs that pushed him through runs had launched him into a leap, sent him flying at the intruder, and at the same time every part of Wolfram flexed, his claws out and on full display as he lunged. Time slowed there into a protracted drip, a moment in between moments, where both of Wolfram’s feet were off of the ground and his entire bulk was aimed at this man, this stranger who had stepped into his home, who had hurt his staff, the people who had been by his side for ten years, his constant companions and protectors.

The only thing Wolfram could see were the man’s eyes, green and wide as he watched the monster that was rushing at him. The stranger’s mouth fell open. One hand darted into his jacket.

For the first time in his life, Wolfram felt the sick sensation of his claws sinking into another person’s flesh as he landed on top of the stranger. He dug in and slashed across the man’s chest.

Wolfram felt something cold poking into his chest as he collided with the man—and then noise seemed to come back into the world, his own roar blasting his ears. And then something even louder than himself: a sound so loud it was concussive.

He heard the first shot more than felt it. After the noise shattered his hearing, the rest of the shots sounded hollow and far away.

Wolfram and the stranger hit the marble floor hard—and then the entireworldwas far away, the foyer falling away from him as his vision constricted, the edges going dark. Wolfram wondered what had happened, why he couldn’t see any longer, what had deafened him, and as his senses shut down, the last thing he could smell was something like sunshine and ozone and the skin of a peach.

Beau,he thought.

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