Tall, Dark & Furious (A Pyte/Sentinel Novel Book 6) Read online

  It also made her wonder if she’d imagined everything.

  It was possible, Samantha mused as she stopped scrubbing his head to touch the tender spot on the back of hers only to come to the conclusion that it had definitely happened when he growled a warning that had her quickly returning her attention to the soapy mess that she’d created. While she stood there, stretching up on her tippy toes in order to reach the top of his head and trying to buy herself some time, she tried to think of a way out of this.

  What would Nathan do? Samantha wondered as she looked around the old bathtub, noting everything within reach only to shift her attention to all that conditioner that she was currently working into his scalp as an idea hit her, an idea that she wasn’t sure would work, but…

  It was really all she had at the moment.

  Slowly exhaling, she grabbed the bottle of shampoo and poured an ungodly amount into her hand before placing it back on the shelf. She could do this, she told herself as she pressed her hands together and spread the shampoo between them as she did her best to psych herself up without passing out.

  She could do this, Samantha lied to herself, only to decide that she needed to look at this from a different angle. If she didn’t do this, then there was a very good chance that she would end up joining those men and something told her that she really didn’t want to join them.

  That being said, she had to do this.

  Releasing a shaky breath, she nodded to herself, went back on her tippy toes, reached for his face and-

  Decided to return to the task that he’d given her so that he didn’t tear her apart with those large fangs that he was now sporting. With a somewhat hysterical smile, Samantha added the shampoo to the top of his head as she tried quite desperately to ignore the fact that his once emerald eyes were now that terrifying red that made it difficult to remain conscious.

  “I think it’s time to rinse,” Samantha said brightly, as she dropped her soapy hands away and quickly rinsed them off as he continued standing there, staring at her in a way that had her seriously considering giving in to the panic and calling it a day.

  He didn’t say anything as he stepped back beneath the water, but he did continue to glare at her, which if he’d asked her, she would have told him that it was a bad idea, but since he hadn’t…

  She decided to take his surprised roar as an invitation to run for her life.

  Shoving him aside as he tried to scrub all that soap out of his eyes, Samantha stumbled out of the tub, tripped, skidded and stumbled towards the bathroom door, threw it open and ran as fast as her incredibly uncoordinated feet would take her to the stairs. Once she reached the stairs, she nearly fell to her death when he released another roar.

  Praying that her bag was by the door, she raced down the stairs, almost losing her balance several times along the way and headed towards her bag that was thankfully close to the front door and-

  Kept on going when the next roar shook the house. She threw the front door open and promptly tripped over Charlie, who’d she’d admit that she hadn’t given much thought about since this whole thing started. Ignoring his growl of displeasure at having his nap disturbed as she stumbled the rest of the way across the porch, she somehow landed on the ground at a stumbling run. Out of options, Samantha headed for the woods, hoping to lose him at the stream, which according to her brother would take her back to town if she followed it.

  More than willing to find out if that was true, she ran towards the woods. Ignoring the throbbing pain at the back of her head that threatened to drop her on her ass, the nausea currently begging her to stop, the rocks and twigs biting into her bare feet as she ran as fast as her uncoordinated feet would take her, which unfortunately for her, wasn’t very fast. Regretting the record she’d set for most consecutive days skipping the gym, she slowed down to a stumble as she was forced to grab onto trees as she went, gasping for breath and only realizing too late that she wasn’t alone.

  Charlie, the traitorous bastard, had followed her.

  Chapter 6

  “I swear to god that I will strangle you, you little bastard!” his wife growled viciously only to end up gasping when the large dog, and he was pretty sure that it was a dog although he’d never seen one like it before, herded her back through the door with a vicious growl.

  For a moment, Trace simply stood there, dripping water all over the floor as he watched her trip her way back into the house to get away from the dog snapping at her any time she stopped moving.

  “Wait until I tell Nathan!” she hissed out threateningly, as she moved to go around the dog only to yelp and stumble back when the dog nipped at her. “Oh, you will pay for this, you little bastard!”

  At that, the dog decided that he’d had enough and sent Trace’s disobedient wife running back up the stairs where he waited for her. When she spotted him, she stumbled to a halt only to curse under her breath and run the rest of the way back up the stairs as the dog that he’d decided was his, sent her running. Once she was at the top of the stairs, she skidded to a halt, did a double-take, groaned “Of course he’d be hot,” confusing him, shook her head with a resigned sigh, cleared her throat, nodded to herself as she reached up and pressed her hand against the back of her head, and headed back towards the bathroom, making sure to give him plenty of space as she went.

  Shifting his glare from his woman to the dog sitting by his feet, Trace gave the dog a look that had him lying down and keeping watch. Once he was sure that his wife wasn’t doubling back and trying to escape, he closed his eyes and slowly scented the air as he listened for whatever had set the dog off. After a moment, he reluctantly opened his eyes and glanced down at the dog that was keeping watch. He didn’t hear anything, but he knew they were coming.

  The only question was when.

  With that in mind, he walked back into the bathroom, slammed the door shut behind him and watched as his woman shifted nervously by the chair as she waited for him to sit back down. Narrowing his eyes on her, Trace sat back down only to glare at his wife when she threw a large cloth over his lap and-

  “Careful, wife,” he bit out in warning, letting her know that he wouldn’t tolerate any more of her tricks when she reached for the thing that she’d trimmed his hair with earlier.

  With a reluctant nod, and looking paler than she had before, she carefully moved closer and reached up with trembling hands and began cutting his hair and shaved his beard, again. Once she was done, she stepped away, wrapped her arms around herself and mumbled, “I’m done.”

  Nodding, he stood up, all while keeping his attention on his wife that needed to learn her place before he turned his attention to the polished glass and glared at the stranger staring back at him. It was hard to remember what he’d looked like as a boy, but he didn’t think that he’d looked anything like the angry man staring back at him. Almost afraid to find out, he closed his eyes and grabbed hold of the edge of the counter as he asked the one question that had tormented him for years.

  “What year is it?”

  “Two thousand nineteen,” came the reluctant answer that had him absently nodding as he did the math and when he realized just how much time had passed since he woke up in that tomb, the air in his lungs left him in a rush.

  Three hundred and fifty-four years.

  He’d spent three hundred and fifty-four years in that tomb, Trace thought, struggling to draw a breath as he tightened his hold on the broken counter, causing more pieces to break off and fall to the ground as everything turned red and a growl worked its way up his throat as he tried to…tried to…

  Shake his head in disbelief when his wife dropped to the floor behind him and just like that, the red seeped out of his vision and he was sighing heavily as he turned his attention to the woman that clearly needed a man to take care of her. They were going to have to break her of this habit, Trace decided as he opened the door before leaning down to scoop her up in his arms, not really sure what he was going to do with this woman.

  Besid
es wash her, he amended a moment later when he caught the scent of shifter lingering on her skin. With that in mind, he carried her back to the shower, pushed the curtain aside, and realized that the water was no longer hot. With a shrug, he placed his wife inside, ignored her startled gasp as she came to and handed her the soap.

  “Wash,” was all he said before he left the sputtering woman to do as he asked and decided that it was time to search the rest of the house.

  *-*-*-*

  “I really hate you,” Samantha informed the traitor that was following her as she tightened the towel around herself while she tried to ignore the splitting headache that was starting to concern her. She quickly made her way to her bedroom, and once she was there, she slammed the door shut in the little bastard’s face only to bite back a groan when she realized that she wasn’t alone.

  “What’s this?” the man that had barged into the bathroom a total of fifteen times to make sure that she was doing as she was told before stealing her clothes, asked from where he sat on her bed, examining her old iPod.

  “It’s an iPod,” she said, absently noting that he was now wearing a pair of Nathan’s old jeans and had probably already searched her brother’s bedroom.

  “What does it do?” he asked as she walked over to her dresser, wondering if he’d found anything that she could use to get out of this.

  “It plays music,” she said as she quickly grabbed some clothes, hoping to get dressed before-

  “And this?” he asked, drawing her attention back to find him holding-

  “Oh, my god!” she gasped, as she dropped the clothes in her arms to rescue Bob before he realized what it was for, but something, mainly the way that his eyes suddenly turned red and that growl that she really shouldn’t find sexy was torn from his throat, told her that he’d just figured it out.

  With a somewhat hysterical smile, she managed to grab Bob from him and shoved it back in the nightstand drawer with the hopes that there wouldn’t be any follow up questions, but of course, with the way that her day was going, she really should have expected it.

  “What do you use that for, wife?” he asked, making her wince.

  “It’s umm, a sleep aide?” she said absently, wondering if he’d found-

  “And this?” he asked in that same deep sexy growl that let her know that yes, yes, he had indeed found her pocket rocket.

  The sound of Bob Jr. turning on only confirmed it. Reminding herself that she needed to tread lightly here, she turned around and mumbled, “It helps with the sleep aide,” noting the way that his red eyes narrowed on her before she quickly turned around as she shut it off and shoved it in the drawer with Bob. Once that was done, she turned around and-

  “What’s a call?” he suddenly demanded, as he picked up a large black duffle bag that she hadn’t noticed before and dropped it on her bed.

  “A call?” Samantha repeated back slowly, as she did her best to keep her gaze from wandering towards the cellphone on her nightstand.

  “I need a call,” he said firmly, as those terrifying red eyes locked on her.

  “Who do you need to call?” she asked, moving behind the bureau so that she could get dressed in private only to bite back a sigh when he moved closer so that he could keep an eye on her.

  “My father,” he bit out evenly, as she struggled to get dressed without dropping her towel, painfully aware of the large angry man watching her every move as she pulled on another pair of granny panties and her most comfortable pair of jeans just in case she got another chance to escape.

  “Do you have a number?” she asked as she turned around, giving him her back and after a minute, she realized that she wasn’t going to be able to put a bra on like this.

  Resigning herself to having her boobs slap her in the face during her next escape attempt, she pulled on her old Hershey Park tee-shirt. When she was done, she tossed the towel aside and realized that the Advil was slowly starting to kick in, which would hopefully help her figure a way out of this, and there had to be a way out of this.

  At least, that’s what she was going to keep telling herself.

  “Wife?” he bit out tightly, reminding her that he was waiting for her to do his bidding.

  “Right,” she mumbled, worrying her bottom lip as she turned around and reluctantly faced the man glaring down at her as she struggled to figure out what she was going to do.

  “Call,” he said evenly, as she stood there, nodding dumbly as she folded her arms over her chest.

  “Is he, ummm, like you?” she asked, and when he only continued to glare down at her, she mumbled, “I see,” as she licked her lips while she debated her options only to realize that she didn’t exactly have any.

  “Do you have his phone number?” she asked, and with that, he handed her a long white envelope with the name “Trace” neatly written across it.

  Reaching out with a trembling hand, she took the envelope and after a slight hesitation, she pulled a single piece of paper out and read it. When she was done, she read it again and just like that, she knew what Nathan would do.

  Chapter 7

  “The call, wife?” Trace said, watching as his wife stared down at the piece of parchment that his father had left for him and read the line of numbers that he hadn’t been able to make sense of while he stood there taking in every devastating curve of her body before he forced himself to look away.

  He didn’t want to notice how good his wife smelled or how soft her skin looked because the last thing that he needed right now was a distraction. For the last three hundred and fifty-four years, he’d thought of only one thing.

  Revenge.

  He wanted revenge on the Pack that had targeted him, on the shifters that had taken turns breaking his bones with mallets, but most of all, he wanted revenge on the girl that made him believe that he could have something more only to smile down at him as they’d swung a mallet between his legs. The only thing that he needed right now was his wife to do as he told her so that he could-

  “So, this is what’s going to happen,” his wife said, drawing his attention back to find her-

  “No!” he roared as she set his only means of finding his father on fire with a small red cylinder and before he could tear it away from her, it was nothing more than a pile of simmering black ash drifting down to the dull wood bedchamber floor.

  “I’m going to call your father and after I do, you’re going to leave and never come back,” his wife said hoarsely, drawing his attention back to find her holding onto the bureau as she struggled not to faint.

  As his vision turned red, he took a step towards her and then another, and another until he had her backed up against the wall. Keeping his eyes locked with hers, he ignored her startled gasp and leaned in, placing his hands against the wall on either side of her head, caging her in as he bit out, “Give me a call now, wife.”

  “No,” she said weakly as she shook her head, swallowing hard as her breaths became shallow and her body began to tremble and although he was pleased to discover that his wife had a backbone, he was furious that she was disobeying him in this.

  Wrapping one hand around the back of her neck while he used his other hand to cup the generous curve of her hip, he pulled her closer so that he could make things abundantly clear to her. When her large breasts pressed against his stomach, he closed his eyes and fought for control. It had been so long since he’d touched someone that he’d forgotten just how good it felt.

  “P-please,” she mumbled as he forced himself to focus.

  “Call,” he bit out as he moved to push her away only to tighten his hold on her as he held her closer, unable to let her go because this…

  This is what he’d dreamed of all those years that he’d spent in that hole, forced to kneel on the hard ground while the sharp stones that trapped him bit into his skin, slowly tearing away his dry skin any time he moved. She was so soft, Trace thought, unable to help himself as he pulled her closer. For years, he’d fantasized about having something soft to
uching his skin, but never in his wildest dreams had he imagined anything as soft as the woman in his arms. She felt so good, Trace thought with a groan as he moved his hands over her back, hating the thin shirt that separated them even as he realized that this was the closest that he’d ever been to a woman.

  His father had been strict, making sure that none of the whores that he’d used to cover their scents touched him. They’d been allowed to watch him as a child and make sure that he stayed out of trouble when his father was hunting, but once he’d been able to run around the taverns, terrorizing everyone that came through the front door, they’d never been allowed to touch him again. They’d never been allowed to hug him or hold him, or even comfort him when he’d skinned his knee out of fear that his father would rip their throats out.

  The filth and disease that his father used to cover their scents had been the same reason why his father had forced him to live a life of solitude where he’d spent most of his childhood staring out windows, watching as the world went on around him, resigned to putting his life on hold until he made it to his immortality. It had been an incredibly lonely existence and one he’d hated until he’d met Mary. She’d smiled every time she saw him, hugged him, and had made a fool out of him, something that he would never allow to happen again.

  “Please, just let me go,” the woman in his arms whispered as he closed his eyes and savored her scent with a groan.

  Sweet like apples and strawberries drizzled in honey.

  She was so damn sweet, Trace thought as he turned his head so that he could take her scent deeply into his lungs as his hand found its way beneath her shirt. When his hand glided across smooth skin, his cock finally came to life, twitching with interest, and making him sigh with relief, because he-