Chapter Four
“You wanted to see me?” The sound of Templeton’s voice was the only solace the Beast had found since learning of Charles Atwood’s death earlier that morning.
Keeping his hood in place, Lincoln turned to face his attorney and most trusted advisor. “I want you to find out who killed Atwood, and bring him to me.”
“Dead or alive?” Templeton murmured without missing a beat.
“It matters not.”
Templeton stared at him for long moments. “I can almost guarantee that none of ours were responsible. There would have been no need to kill him. Atwood had already lost everything over the past several months in previous card games. And now we have his home.”
Lincoln’s eyes narrowed beneath his hood. “His home?”
Reaching inside his coat pocket, Templeton pulled an envelope free. “I have the signed deed right here.”
Striding forward, Lincoln plucked the deed from Templeton’s grasp, his heart pounding with a modicum of satisfaction. “How did you manage this?”
“It was really quite easy, once he had no money left to bet with. It was his last shot to make it back.” Templeton paused. “But of course, he never stood a chance. The game had been rigged just as you specified.”
Lincoln stared down at the envelope he held, a calmness seeping into his veins. “I want this filed with the courts as soon as possible.”
“Already done,” Templeton confessed without blinking. “I took care of it first thing this morning. The house on Royal Street now belongs to you. And it’s worth a pretty penny.”
“I don’t care about the money,” the Beast growled, tossing the envelope onto the side table next to the glass-covered rose. “I never have.”
Templeton shrugged a bony shoulder. “Be that as it may, Ruby Atwood will have thirty days to pay off the monies owed, since the house has been left to her in Charles’s will. Along with sole custody of her younger brother, Cameron.”
“Pay off?” Lincoln softly bit out. “Explain.”
Clearing his throat, Templeton shifted his weight. “That was the stipulation Charles demanded before signing the documents. If he lost the game, he would have thirty days to buy back the deed to his home.”
“What?” Lincoln snarled, taking a threatening step forward. “How could you allow him to make stipulations?”
Templeton didn’t flinch, just continued to stand there, unmoving. “It was the only way he would sign the document, sir. Besides, Ruby Atwood doesn’t have the means to come up with six-hundred-fifty-thousand dollars in the next thirty days. She’s a college student, and no more than twenty-years old.”
Lincoln’s eyes became hooded. “Did you kill Charles Atwood?”
That got a rise out of the otherwise calm attorney. “Of course, not. I’m an attorney, Lincoln, not the Hillside Strangler.”
Taking another step forward, Lincoln grasped the edges of his hood and slowly pushed it back away from his beastly face. A flicker of fear entered Templeton’s eyes, but it left so fast, Lincoln wondered if he’d imagined it. “The chances of me being anything other than what I am now died with Charles Atwood.”
Templeton studied Lincoln’s face. “You can’t know that for sure.”
“My father told me of the curse years ago, Templeton. The only person that had the ability to reverse it was Charles Atwood.”
“That can’t be true,” Templeton stressed, his hands going to his hips. “Charles may have been the only one who could reverse the spell, but he couldn’t possibly be the only one who could break it. There has to be another way.”
Rage boiled the Beast’s blood. He peeled his lips away from his sharp teeth and leaned down close to Templeton’s now pale face. “I may as well be asked to raise the dead, you fool! I am to be cursed for the rest of my life.”
Templeton backed up a step. “We will figure something out. I—”
“You’ll what?” the Beast sneered, turning away and snatching open a drawer to the bedside table. He yanked out a folded scrap of paper that had seen better days and handed it to the now frightened attorney. It had come with the rose beneath that glass. “Read it.”
Taking an unsteady breath, Templeton pulled a pair of glasses from his shirt pocket, slipped them onto his hawk-like nose, and unfolded the paper. “It’s addressed to the child of Stanford Barone.”
The Beast nodded toward the paper. “Go on. Read it.”
Templeton ran a hand through his thinning hair and turned the paper toward the light. “Only true love will set you free, from an innocent it must be. You must learn to love that which you hate, or your thirtieth birthday will seal your fate. When the last petal falls it will be too late.”
“So, you see,” the Beast rumbled, barely able to speak the words, “I am to be this for the remainder of my days.”
Templeton appeared uncomfortable. He glanced at the glass housing the nearly bare rose. “Your thirtieth birthday is less than a month away. You are expected to love someone you hate and have that love returned by an innocent in the next twenty-nine days?”
“Exactly.”
“How come your father never told me about the riddle?”
Lincoln shrugged a giant shoulder. “Maybe he knew it would do no good.”
“Where the hell are you expected to find a virgin in the twenty-first century?” Templeton asked, apparently still in shock.
The Beast returned his hood to his head. “You’re missing the point. Virgin or not, no one could ever love a beast, any more than I could love someone I hate. Finding a grain of salt amidst the sands of the beach would be an easier feat.”
“I am sorry, Lincoln.”
“I don’t want your pity,” the Beast snarled, spinning around and stalking back to the window. “I want revenge.”
The sound of Templeton’s shoes clicking on the floor told Lincoln he’d moved to the side table by the bed. He slid the drawer open, obviously returning the paper to its proper place. “Tell me what you want me to do.”
“For starters, I want to own Ruby Atwood.”
Templeton remained silent for a moment. “And the boy?”
Lincoln thought about Charles Atwood’s son. Though the beast inside him demanded revenge, he knew he’d get no satisfaction from harming a child. He must have some humanity in him after all, he decided. Small as it was. “Leave him be. I may revisit him at a later time. I derive no pleasure from hurting children.”
“I’ll get right on this.” Templeton strode toward the door.
“Templeton?”
“Yes?” the attorney quietly answered.
“See that Ruby doesn’t find a way to retain that house. I want to own everything she’s ever cared about, right down to her favorite pair of shoes. Do you understand? No matter how small or insignificant you think it is.”
“I understand.” Templeton opened the door, closing it softly behind him.