Tall, Dark & Furious (Pyte/Sentinel 6)

“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.