Page 94 of Beau and the Beast

The bathroom was empty, too.

Down the hall in the same wing, Wolfram's gym was empty.

Beau wondered where the man had gotten off to. He'd never known Wolfram to lurk anywhere in the penthouse other than in his own wing. Beau checked room after room only to find them abandoned.

He also didn't usually talk to Wolfram in the middle of the night, he realized. Beau had let himself think that he knew everything there was to know about Wolfram—or at least was approaching that point—but the fact that he wasn't where Beau expected him to be was a stark reminder that he could still have secrets.

That doesn't change anything, Beau told himself. He'd already decided that Wolfram was a good man. His actions bore it out every day. Beau didn't have to know everything about someone to know that they were good, that they deserved trust.

He left the wing, feeling bad about snooping, and returned to the familiar hall with his own room. He lingered outside the ruined guest room with his cup of tea just long enough to hear the sound of shattering glass.

Wolfram.

Heart pounding, Beau cracked the door and stepped inside.

The room was different at night, made more bizarre and frightening by the lamplight that splashed jagged shadows against the walls.

Wolfram wasn’t in the drawing room, but the furniture within was even more pulverized than the last time Beau had seen it. The chairs and cushions were no longer recognizable as discrete units but were instead a mess of splintered wood and rags.

There was a low keening coming from another part of the apartment. Beau followed the noise through the study and into the bedroom, where he was confronted by the enormous shape of Wolfram.

He was looking through the floor-to-ceiling windows on one side of the room with his back to Beau, tail held low, the dark stripe of fur running down his spine bristling, making him look impossibly large.

He’s naked, Beau realized after an instant. For the first time, he was seeing Wolfram without the vest, the breeches, the gold watch—the things that had helped to very firmly categorize Wolfram as a man and not an animal.

The high and pitiful noise turned into a growl that rolled out of him.

Suddenly, the muscles in his back contracted. Beau wanted to call out to him but the words were caught in his throat and he watched the inexorable movement that seemed to slip in slow motion, Wolfram rearing back and then swiping with all his might.

The glass of the window cracked but did not fall.

“Wolfram!”

Wolfram moved, this time with the other hand, the enormous strength frightening and potent, and he struck the glass again. This time it shattered, falling out into the dark night.

Wind whipped into the room. Beau screamed his name a second time. Wolfram stepped forward, one hand on the edge of the broken glass. He leaned out into the night at a precarious angle, his trajectory clear. He aimed to jump through the window.

Beau didn’t think, didn’t wait. He ran across the room screaming Wolfram’s name and dug his fingers into the fur where it was longest on Wolfram’s back, throwing all of his weight into it, pulling him back with the whole force of his body.

Wolfram didn’t budge at first, his profile fearsome against the glowing New Whitby sky beyond them, dark mane moving in the wind.

“Wolf, please,” Beau begged, tugging him, his bare feet slipping in the broken glass.

Finally, Wolfram turned as if seeing Beau for the first time.

“Please, come on,” Beau said, releasing his fur and pulling at him around the waist. Tears were hot on his cheeks. “Come away from the window.”

Wolfram had the same look he’d had that morning—impenetrable and foreign—but Beau knew that the man was inside of him.

“You’re bleeding—please,” Beau said. The back of one of Wolfram’s hands was slashed and blood was flowing down his wrist. Beau tried to pull it closer to have a look but Wolfram pulled the hand back, growling and baring his teeth.

Wolfram came away from the window, then, but he bristled again, the growl rolling low in his chest as he stalked toward Beau.

Beau took one step back and then another. “Wolfram.”

Wolfram just narrowed his eyes at him and took another step.

Beau shuddered at the awareness that Wolfram was looking at him like a piece of prey. At the same time, something turned a corner inside Beau in the same way that it had that morning when he’d been mad.

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