Tall, Dark & Furious (A Pyte/Sentinel Novel Book 6) Page 7

  Dropped to his knees, gasping for air as excruciating pain tore through his balls while he stared up at his wife in shock as he cupped his battered cock.

  “Sorry,” his wife mumbled with a sympathetic wince even as she shoved him out of the way, knocking him on his ass in the process.

  With another mumbled, “Sorry!” she raced to the closed bedchamber door, threw it open and turned right back around, grabbed the small smooth, black rectangular object that he hadn’t been able to figure out, ran towards the door only to once again turn around and-

  “Sorry!” she mumbled even as she drew her foot back and-

  “Christ!” he choked out as she landed a solid kick to his stomach before she turned around, mumbled, “Sorry,” over her shoulder and tripped over the dog that should be stopping her as she stumbled her way to the stairs and threw one last, “Sorry!” over her shoulder before leaving him lying there, realizing that he’d seriously underestimated his wife.

  Something that he didn’t plan on doing again.

  *-*-*-*

  “Oh, crap! Oh, crap! Oh, crap!” Samantha muttered somewhat hysterically as she quickly made her way downstairs and through the passageway after she’d decided, with the help of the horrifying roar and the little bastard that had taken it upon himself to stop her from leaving, that hiding down here was her best option.

  Granted, at this point, it was probably her only option since Charlie, the traitorous little bastard, wouldn’t let her leave the house. When she grabbed her keys and headed for her car, the little bastard snapped at her, making her drop her keys and when she went to pick them up, he’d grabbed them and ran back upstairs to his new master.

  See if she shared her pizza with the little bastard again, Samantha thought with a murderous glare aimed at the dimly lit basement as she grabbed the flashlight that one of the men had dropped during the incident that she was doing her best not to think about since it would probably have her passing out again. Licking her lips, Samantha shoved her phone in her back pocket and turned the flashlight on as she stood up, looking for a place to hide where the incredibly angry man periodically releasing blood-curdling roars wouldn’t be able to find her.

  When the beam of light landed on the large hole in the wall, she shook her head and-

  “Wife!”

  Decided that the hole would make an excellent hiding spot.

  Decision made, she walked over to the hole and-

  “Wife,” came the furious snarl that had her practically diving inside to get away from the man that sounded a little too close for her comfort.

  Feeling her heart pounding against her chest, she settled back against the wall and-

  Felt her stomach drop.

  “Oh, my god…” she whispered as she looked at the stones surrounding her, taking in the black lines smeared everywhere, the claw marks marring the stone walls, the thick layer of dust on the floor with bits of old cloth, and pieces of…of…

  “Oh, god,” she mumbled as the flashlight fell limply from her hand and her knees hit the cold stone floor with a thud as she stared down at the small bones surrounding her.

  In a daze, she looked up at the claw marks marring the walls and ceiling, trying to comprehend what she was seeing only to go still when she realized that she wasn’t alone. Swallowing hard, she shifted until her back was pressed tightly against the stone wall, really hoping that the rather angry man glaring at her through those terrifying red eyes would be willing to overlook the fact that she’d kicked him in the balls.

  Chapter 8

  “I said I was sorry!” the little brat said as she continued to squirm and wiggle in a desperate attempt to escape, but he simply ignored her as he carried her back upstairs.

  “Maybe we could discuss this?” she asked, sounding hopeful as he stepped over the door that he’d broken in half earlier and carried her over to the small table and dropped her generous ass onto one of the warped chairs.

  Deciding that he’d played enough games with his wife, Trace placed the other chair in front of her, sat down, and reached over, grabbing hold of her chair and pulled it closer so that he could make things abundantly clear to her.

  “Make the call,” he said quietly, as he allowed his eyes to shift back to red and his fangs to-

  “I’m making the call!” she practically shouted, as she held up the small black rectangle with trembling hands. “I’m making the call!”

  He didn’t say anything, but then again, it seemed that he didn’t have to when he reminded his wife of what would happen if she didn’t do as he asked. Licking her lips nervously, she shifted her attention to the black thing in her hand and began tapping her fingers against it, making him frown as an odd sound accompanied each tap of her fingertips.

  Wondering what she was doing, he leaned closer and-

  “Who is this?” a man’s voice demanded, startling him.

  With a growl, he shoved to his feet and stumbled back, shoving the chair out of the way in the process as he searched for the owner of that voice.

  “Umm, Samantha,” his wife said as she shot him a frown.

  “Well, Sam, you’ve got the wrong number,” the hard voice said while Trace scented the air and tried to listen for another heartbeat, but he couldn’t find any.

  “What’s your father’s name?” Samantha asked while he tore open cabinet doors, searching for the owner of that voice.

  “Ethan,” Trace said absently with a glare at the cupboard full of folded linen.

  “Is this Ethan?” his wife asked, drawing his attention back to find her holding the small black rectangle against her ear.

  “Who’s asking?”

  “The woman currently being held hostage by your son,” she said, earning a glare.

  There was a heavy pause and then, “That’s not funny,” the voice said, drawing his attention back to the small black rectangle in her hand.

  “Trust me. There’s nothing funny about this situation, but I would really appreciate it if you would come get him,” she said only to mumble, “Don’t poke the bear,” cleared her throat, and shot him a nervous smile as he tried to figure out what was happening.

  “What does he look like?” Ethan asked, sighing heavily.

  “At the moment? Tall, dark hair, emerald eyes when they’re not a disturbing red, and fangs, really sharp, pointy fangs,” she said, shifting nervously in her chair.

  “Is this a jest, wife?” Trace asked, walking over to-

  “Trace?” the voice said, making everything in him go still because it couldn’t be…

  “Father?” Trace said, even as he shook his head and moved to step away only to have his wife reach out and gently take his hand in hers.

  “It’s a phone, Trace,” she said softly, as she held the black rectangle up. “It’s okay. I promise. I’ll figure out a way to explain this to you later, but for right now, just take the phone and talk to your father.”

  She moved to hand the phone to him, but he could only stand there, staring down at it as he tried to figure out what he was going to say. He’d thought about what he was going to say to his father so many times and now that he had the chance…

  He couldn’t do it.

  “Okay,” Samantha said, nodding as she put the phone back against her ear. “I think he’s a little overwhelmed with everything.”

  “What are you talking about?” his father demanded. “Put him on the phone.”

  “This is all new to him and I would really rather not do anything to piss him off right now if that’s okay with you,” she said, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze as he stood there, trying to remember how to breathe.

  This was…this was really happening, Trace realized as he released her hand and was forced to grab hold of the table as his vision started to go dim and the sounds of his heart pounding against his chest and his erratic breathing became distant and the darkness that had once terrified him swallowed him whole.

  *-*-*-*

  “What the hell’s going on?” Eth
an demanded, but since she was currently attempting to squeeze herself under the sink to get away from the man tearing her kitchen apart, Samantha felt that perhaps now was not the best time to talk.

  “Oh, my god! Oh, my god! Oh, my god!” she mumbled somewhat hysterically, as she shoved an old box of mothballs out of the way and pushed herself back into the corner and pulled her legs in as far as her breasts would allow, which unfortunately, wasn’t very far.

  “Sam, what the hell is going on?” the man that she really hoped knew how to fix this asked.

  Never taking her eyes off the man that was now slowly crouching down in front of her as he released another one of those terrifying growls that had her struggling not to blackout, she licked her suddenly dry lips and said, “I think he’s gone rabid.”

  “What is he doing?”

  “Mostly he’s just glaring at me through bright red eyes and baring his fangs at me,” she said quietly as she wrapped her arm around her indrawn knees as she forced herself to look away.

  “Can he talk to you?”

  “He’s growling,” she whispered, really wishing that she wasn’t here right now.

  “Shit,” Ethan said, sighing heavily. “I need you to remain calm. Keep your breathing normal and whatever you do, don’t scream.”

  “I’m trying,” Samantha said as she was forced to press her forehead against her knees when her head began spinning.

  “Where are you, Sam?”

  “West…Westdrom, Maine,” she managed to get out.

  “Stay with me, Sam. This is very important. Do they know that Trace is there?”

  She nodded dumbly for a minute before she remembered that he couldn’t see her and said, “They dug him out of a stone wall.”

  “He was in a wall?” came the quiet reply that sent a chill down her spine.

  “Yes, in my basement. There were six of them, but they’re gone now,” she said, falling heavily against the side of the cabinet.

  “We need to get you out of there, Sam.”

  “Been working on it,” she said weakly, as she forced her eyes open and found herself staring at Charlie’s back as her brother’s dog took a protective stance in front of her and released a growl of his own.

  Taking a deep breath, Samantha reached over and grabbed onto his collar and pulled him back, because she couldn’t stomach the idea of the annoying little bastard getting hurt because of her. He continued to growl as she pulled him inside the small cabinet and wrapped her arm around him to keep him from doing something incredibly stupid that would end with her having to explain to Nathan how she let the little bastard get torn apart.

  “I’m also going to need you to get my son out of there,” Ethan said, making her wince even as she shook her head because there was no way in hell that she was going anywhere with-

  “You’re his only chance, Sam,” Ethan said and just when she went to tell him that she wasn’t going to take him anywhere those red eyes that were probably going to haunt her for the rest of her life faded and were replaced by a pair of kind emerald eyes that looked completely lost as they slowly took in the damage around him.

  It was at that moment that she realized something important.

  Stockholm syndrome was real.

  Chapter 9

  Williams Mansion

  Upstate New York

  “Are we going to talk about it?” Caine asked, pressing a kiss against the back of his mate’s neck as he closed his eyes and slowly inhaled, taking in her irresistible scent that was laced with the proof that they’d fucked up.

  “No,” Danni said, shaking her head as she placed her hand over his where it laid on her bare hip and brought it down to her flat stomach, where he placed it against the other thing that they weren’t talking about. “Because I’m fine.”

  “You slipped into another coma,” he said softly as he pulled her closer, wondering just how much more of this that he was going to be able to take.

  “I’m fine,” Danni stressed, pretending that things weren’t bad when all he could do was wonder how everything could be perfect one minute and the next…

  He was watching his mate die again.

  He should have known better than to believe that he was ever going to have a happy ending. Not after what he’d done. He didn’t deserve it, but even knowing that hadn’t stopped him from going after it and now, Danni was the one paying the price. Christofer’s blood was no longer working, his blood was no longer helping, human blood was only making her weaker, and demon blood was only making this worse. Nothing was fucking working and that terrified him.

  She’d gone from being invincible, able to wipe the floor with Chris and Ephraim with a smile to barely able to make it up the stairs most days without someone carrying her. He still wasn’t sure how it happened. One day she was smiling and everything that she was meant to be and the next…

  She was dying in his arms, again.

  He’d rather spend eternity trapped at the bottom of the ocean than to watch her suffer for one more minute, but there was nothing that he could do to stop this. He’d tried. God, how he’d fucking tried to save her, but nothing he did worked. He’d contacted doctors from all over the world, oncologists, surgeons, biochemists, biologists, hoping to find an answer, but so far, the only thing that they could agree on was that she was dying and there was nothing that they could do to save her.

  The Council hadn’t had any luck either. They’d searched their archives, had one of their Sentinel doctors move into the compound to take care of her, bargained with demons for their blood to see if any of them could save her, but nothing helped. The only thing that they’d learned over the past few months was that they were running out of time. Every time she fell into a coma, he was forced to watch, helpless to do anything as he listened to her heart stop beating and count down the minutes until it started beating again.

  Every time her heart stopped, it took a little longer for it to start beating the next time, letting him know that the cancer was winning. Sooner or later her heart was going to stop beating and-

  “Do you think he’ll be okay?” Danni asked, reminding him of the other reason why it was taking her heart longer to recover.

  “Yes,” he promised her, as he pressed a kiss against the back of her neck, wishing that they could keep pretending that they hadn’t brought an innocent baby into all this.

  They’d never wanted children and had always been careful, but somehow, they’d missed the signs that she was pregnant and now there wasn’t anything that they could do about it. By the time they’d scented the change, it had already been too late. Her body had shut down any possibility to end the pregnancy, ensuring that they couldn’t do anything to stop what they’d both known was coming.

  The first time that she’d gone into a coma after they’d found out that she was pregnant, he’d been forced to sit by her side, holding her hand while he listened as her heart took its last beat, knowing that they’d just lost their baby, and he’d fucking lost it. One minute he’d been sitting there, struggling to catch his breath, realizing just how badly he wanted this child and the next, he’d lost himself to bloodlust, had fucking welcomed it. It had taken every Pyte in the house and a bullet to the back of his head to put him down.

  By the time that he came to, chained in one of the cells they’d had built in the cellar, her heart had started beating again and he’d realized that his definition of pain had been a fucking joke. Their baby was still alive, suffering right alongside his mother, and he’d realized that he was going to have to watch as his wife and child died over and over again while he was forced to sit there, helpless to do anything to stop it.

  “Your phone’s ringing,” Danni said even as she arched her neck, giving him better access.

  “Let it ring,” Caine said, determined not to waste even one precious moment with her.

  “What if it’s Michael?” Danni asked, making him close his eyes in defeat as he reluctantly pressed one last kiss against her neck and reached for his phon
e, praying that the fucking Sentinel finally found a way to fix this before it was too late.

  “Somebody better be fucking dying,” Caine said, entwining his fingers with hers and used his hold on her to bringer her closer as he closed his eyes and pressed another kiss against the back of her neck as he savored her scent and-

  “I found him,” came the words that he’d never expected to hear.

  *-*-*-*

  Carta, Washington

  “Well, this complicates things,” the crazed man that had broken into her house and kidnapped her said with a thoughtful expression as he tossed the phone that he’d been on for the past hour onto the bed next to her and rubbed his hands down his face with a heavy sigh while Indie sat there, praying that he wasn’t about to let her go.

  To be fair, she was also praying that he wasn’t about to cut his losses and kill her, but that really should go without saying. Not that she was particularly fond of the large angry man that had killed her guardians and seemed to have a fondness for glaring because she wasn’t. No, the reason that she didn’t want to be let go was really quite simple.

  She didn’t want to be anyone’s bitch.

  Okay, so one might argue that was exactly what she’d been for the past twenty-five years, but since she liked to look on the bright side of things, she was going to pretend that her entire existence up to this point had simply been a misunderstanding. One that would continue if the man glaring at her didn’t take her with him. Granted, she could always try to escape on her own, and she would if he didn’t take her with him, but since the last three-hundred and thirty-two attempts had ended badly, she would much rather stay with the man that had managed to accomplish the impossible.

  At least, until she got to Boston.

  Then, she was going to finally disappear and…

  She really didn’t care what she did just as long as she never had to go back to that house. With that in mind, Indie shifted her attention from the man that really seemed to hate her and took in the hotel room that she found herself in, noting the water stains on the walls, the weird white stains marking the sides of the dark nightstands and headboard, the musty odor that seemed to permeate the air, the threadbare rug, beige curtains marked with cigarette burns and other things, and thought it was the most beautiful thing that she’d ever seen in her life.