Page 162 of Beau and the Beast

“I want you now.”

Beau grabbed a cloth to dry his hands before turning to face him. Beau had started out annoyed at the intrusion—just wanted a moment to do something mindless and simple like washing dishes while he thought about what had just happened at dinner. But something in Wolfram’s face stopped him. He looked almost mournful.

Beau gave him a curious half-smile. His examination of the night could wait, then, if Wolfram needed him.

“Come on,” Beau said, leading the way back to the study.

He only made it a few steps into the room before Wolfram snagged him by the back of his pants, tugging him, turning him, catching him in a kiss. It wasn’t hungry or demanding. There was something unusually soft about the moment, as if Wolfram was on the edge of exhaustion as he clutched Beau close to him and their mouths slid together.

Beau looked down when they broke. “I’m sorry that the book hasn’t helped yet.”

Wolfram ran his fingers through Beau’s hair before resting his palm against Beau’s cheek.

“I don’t want to think about the curse or the book or any of that tonight.”

“What did Alfie mean, at dinner?” Beau asked, unable to hold back the question.

“Alfie said a lot of things at dinner. He was upset and not making sense.”

“He said it was all going to be over soon anyway. He said… ‘how do we know it’s going to expire for us after ten years.’ What does that mean, Wolf?”

Wolfram’s face went inscrutable, hardening suddenly. He let his arms fall and stepped away.

“I’ve been lying to you since you arrived. We all have.”

“What? About what?” Beau demanded.

Wolfram turned away from him, motioning for Beau to follow him into his bedroom. He turned on the floor lamp, opened a drawer in his armoire, and lifted out the gold watch.

“You remember the curse—the riddle from the witch?”

“Of course,” Beau said. “I’ve got it memorized by now.”

“There’s a stanza we left out. None of us told you.”

He placed the watch into Beau’s hands, heavy and cold.

“Ten years to fall and ten to rise,” Wolfram said, reciting the final stanza, “time's fingers point the way.”

He tapped the face of the watch.

“And when they meet the sun will set, upon his final day,” he finished.

There was a moment before Beau understood. “This isn’t a watch. It’s a countdown timer.”

Wolfram nodded. Beau brought it up to his face, peering at it. The time was the same as it had been before, when Wolfram had gotten so frightened and rushed at him. It was just a minute away from midnight.

“That means—at midnight? What, yourfinal dayhappens at midnight?”

Wolfram nodded again.

“That’s why you were so frightened when I touched it,” Beau said, breathless. “Christ, Wolf, I nearly killed you?”

“You didn’t know. It’s my fault—I didn’t tell you.”

“So how much time do I have?” Beau asked, panic rising in his chest. “When’s midnight?”

“Seven or eight weeks. A month or two. We never figured out if ‘the final day’ means the calendar day anniversary of the day of my curse or a true passage of years. But approximately seven weeks.”

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