Tall, Dark & Furious (Pyte/Sentinel 6)

“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-

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-