Page 82 of Beau and the Beast

Wolfram took three steps back, turning on the lights. He was so often alone that it was easy to forget he was the only one in the penthouse who could see in the dark. He bounded forward to Beau.

"Are you alright?"

"I banged my stupid leg against the stupid table," Beau said, a whine inching into his voice Wolfram had never heard before. He straightened out and dragged the sleeve of his sweater over his eyes.

Affection swelled in Wolfram so big that it threatened to overtake him. Beau was in his pajamas and a stretched-out sweater. His chestnut hair was wild, cheeks flushed. Beau was perfection. Wolfram wondered if he had any idea how beautiful he was, how exquisite.

"What do you need?" Wolfram asked. "What's going on?"

Beau looked up at him as if he was ashamed to be there.

"I had the nightmare again. The one about the fire," Beau said, dropping his eyes. "You'd just said—it sounds stupid now, I feel like a child—you said I should come get you if I—"

* * *

As Beau attemptedto stammer out the unlikely explanation about why he'd shown up in his friend's study in the middle of the night in pajamas with no warning, something incredible happened.

Wolfram took one big step forward, stooped, and wrapped his arms around Beau.

The bigger man was warm—so goddamn warm—and he squeezed Beau tight.

It wasn't at all what Beau had expected. He just wanted to share a space with Wolfram, to see him and not be alone. But it was exactly what Beau had needed, and he let out a long breath, sagging into the touch, pressing his cheek up against the plush fur of Wolfram's bare chest. After a moment, he wrapped his own arms around Wolfram—as far around him as they would go—and squeezed back.

A tranquility descended over Beau that he'd never felt before. He'd come close a few times in Lincoln’s arms. But Lincoln had only made him feel small—not understood, not cared for.

In that moment, though, Beau felt pure safety, unfettered by worry, untouched by sadness. It was as if there in Wolfram's arms he'd finally discovered a sanctuary where nothing could hurt him, could take anything away from him.

His chest felt tight and tears welled in his eyes at the feeling of sudden relief. Beau hated how transparent he was when he was overcome with emotions—good or bad—but in that moment he didn't bother fighting it. He knew he was making the fur against his face damp with his tears but he didn't care.

He had needed this—for so long, he'd needed to feel safe. Even in moments of relative peace, Beau realized now, he had always been steeling himself for a loss, had always seenhimselfas the protector, in need of no one’s help. He had never been able to let go—surrender completely.

* * *

Wolfram wasn'tsure how long he'd been holding Beau. How was it possible that he was the one who had instigated it, had taken Beau into his arms?

What had Beau done—how had he done it in such a short time? How had one man been able to convince Wolfram so utterly that he was not someone to be feared, that he was capable of providing friendship, that Wolfram was someone who couldcomfortsomeone else?

The change in his heart had happened so fast, and all of the instincts that told him not to touch anyone, not to frighten anyone—they had been drained out of him by Beau’s presence, by his quiet and constant compassion.

His world was full up with Beau in that moment, and Beau was so much closer than he'd ever been before and so much more to Wolfram than he’d ever thought possible. Beau was small in his arms but not fragile. He wasn't a piece of porcelain ready to break but rather a fierce, brave little man who refused to compromise and practically vibrated with life, with love for his life—their lives—as broken as they were.

Wolfram would've held him forever if he could because in his mind, he knew how perfect the moment was, better far than any moment he could recall before it, without a chance that any moment that came after it could be better, he thought. It was an instant without pain, where Wolfram's past didn't matter, where his cursed form only served to be big and strong enough to protect the person he cared about.

It was a moment without fear, without rejection, without anything monstrous. Ideal and immaterial, an oasis in a life that had gone for so long without anything nourishing.

Beau’s breathing went funny for a moment, his heartbeat hiccupping and then slowly, slowly settling. The acrid smell of fear and alarm had begun to dissipate the moment Wolfram held him, and by the time Beau’s breathing was slow and even again, it was gone completely, replaced by the scents of his skin, his hair, the smells that made Wolfram war within himself, desperate to quiet the things that they awoke.

And then all at once, it was too much, his body responding to Beau. If he’d embraced Beau a decade ago, before the curse, the same thoughts and impulses would’ve taken him, but Wolfram’s heightened senses made everything worse—different and more nuanced. He could sense the rush of Beau’s blood, was acutely aware of all of his most vulnerable spots, the soft, thin skin just beneath his jaw, the flush that roared through his cheeks and lips.

With the new layer of senses, Wolfram was overcome with the idea that the man in his arms wasblossomingin some way. Every piece of animal information he was receiving about Beau indicated that something was happening, that he was changing, subtle shifts in his breath, his heartbeat, the scent he put into the air, the way he held his posture.

With the awareness came a rush of warm arousal. Beau waslettinghimself be vulnerable and he was… enjoying it, Wolfram realized.

He wanted to squeeze Beau tighter, then, to suck a kiss into his neck and mark him, to drag his face against every inch of Beau’s bare skin in a primal, inhuman need to claim him, to tell the ugly world that Beau was under his protection, owned byhim.

No, he thought abruptly, warring with the part of himself that was more beast than man.Youdon’town Beau. It cannot be.

* * *

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