Page 43 of Beau and the Beast

Wolfram had done that with other young men and women. Sometimes it ended worse than he'd expected, but he always told himself that no real harm had been done. At least they'd come to reality by the hands of someone who wasn't truly cruel—just fitting in.

Beau would've been different—Wolfram could sense that—and maybe it was good that Wolfram was no longer a human. Perhaps Beau would've ruined him with his genuine nature, his expressions that were so open and honest that it was like peering directly into his mind, the soft curves of his face that retained every attractive aspect of youth but somehow refined it into a more sophisticated visage.

All of that was complicated, now, with Wolfram's present set of senses.

Because on top of everything visually pleasant about Beau, Wolfram couldsmellhim.

Smell had never played into his attraction. Unless someone smelled particularly unpleasant, Wolfram didn't think about a person's scent at all.

Having the enhanced sense, though, was like suddenly being aware of a fourth dimension that had always been present but never visible for him. And Beau's scent was nearly overwhelming.

He smelled like potential. Like the first waft of sweetness before the taste of sweet.

Beau smelled likewanting.

And that had dulled Wolfram, hadn't it? He’d been made into a fool by Beau’s good looks and gentleness and the scent that smelled like the promise of everything Wolfram had ever wanted but now would never have.

Wolfram punched the button in the treadmill display in front of him, ramping up the speed by half, running at 15 miles an hour, stretching his muscles and appreciating the meaty bounce of tendons recoiling as he ran. The fixtures in the gym around him vibrated with the impact of his weight. He ignored it, focusing on the rush of blood in his ears as his monster's heart pumped harder.

Wolfram had opened himself to Beau and that had been a mistake.

He'd grown too soft in his years of isolation, become too accustomed to being surrounded by people who he could trust so intimately.

He needed to get the narrative of his life in order before he spoke to Beau again. They could craft something together, but it wouldn't be the story that Beau wanted to tell.

It would be Wolfram's story, told in Wolfram's way.

He dialed the speed up higher, panting now and giving into the animal urge to pant where no one could see him, could understand what a beast he truly was, had always been.

* * *

Beau hadno idea what he'd done wrong, but he left the study feeling like he'd just been scolded by a schoolteacher. He had only been doing his job.

He retreated away from Wolfram's wing, intent on retiring to his room.

Instead, at the last minute, he veered to the other side of the hall and stood outside the door to the wrecked room that he’d seen on the first day with Violet.

Beau felt drawn to it by an invisible force. Without thinking, he let himself inside and shut the door behind him.

Beau had to close his eyes for a moment, so overwhelmed by the sight of the disarray.

So. It had been Wolfram who had done this and not some billionaire’s ill-advised exotic pet.

Beau had allowed himself to forget about the room while he spoke to Wolfram and perhaps that had been a mistake. It was rash to forget about the reality of Wolfram’s strength, to pretend like it wasn’t within his power to do something like this.

He approached the claw mark on the wall and pressed his hand up against it. Wolfram’s hands were so much bigger than his, infinitely more powerful. It seemed impossible that he had ever been a normal man.

What had driven him to wreck the room Beau stood in now? Had his actions been conducted in fury or despair?

Beau had been toying with a lion and pretending he was a tomcat. He needed to think more about what he was doing.

With one last glance at the room, Beau let himself back out.

He passed the afternoon alone with his notes, writing out his impressions of Wolfram, his interpretations of all that he’d learned so far. He wondered how much the narrative would change by the end of their time together, or if he would push Wolfram so far that he would drop the idea entirely.

In the evening, Beau realized that he’d skipped lunch and with a pang of regret, he was reminded of how like his brother he was sometimes. Would Noah remember to eat without a constant companion to remind him?

Beau slipped out of his room to the kitchen, hoping to find something he could take back to his room. Instead, though, as he crossed the common living space, Violet was on him immediately.

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