Tall, Dark & Furious (Pyte/Sentinel 6)

“What year were you born?” Samantha asked only to regret it when more pain shot through the back of her head.

“1649,” Trace murmured absently, looking lost in thought.

With a slight nod, Samantha turned back around and slowly typed the date into the keypad. When she heard the small beep, she turned the lock and opened the front door, triggering the alarm. As several beeps counted off, she tried to wrap her mind around everything that happened in the last…god, she didn’t even know how much time had passed since this all started as she searched for the keypad so that she could shut off the alarm. The only thing that she knew was that she needed to lay down before she passed out.

Forcing herself to focus, she tried to ignore how much the soft beeps were hurting her head and continued looking for the security pad. A few seconds later, she found it on the wall by the front door and punched in the code. Once the alarm was off, she sighed with relief, turned around and headed for the rather comfortable looking leather couch, deciding that she’d had more than enough for one day.

*-*-*-*

“I really hate you,” his wife mumbled from where she was curled up on the strange-looking chaise lounge when the dog took it upon himself to jump on top of her.

With an annoyed sigh, she pushed the dog off, dragged herself back to her feet and stumbled towards the stairs while he took in the house that carried his father’s scent. He’d lived in a lot of places as a boy, small cottages, inns, and whorehouses, but never in anything like this.

He’d grown up in rooms barely big enough to fit a bed, and if they were lucky, they’d have a small window covered with greased paper and shutters that banged against the walls all night, wood floors that creaked with every step, mattresses filled with old hay that smelled like mildew and dirt, and doors that didn’t close without a prayer and a nail. They’d been dirty, overcrowded, and had cost less than a whore for the night.

“We’re going to have to figure out food later,” Samantha said absently, as she headed up the stairs only to pause and throw him a questioning look. “Are you able to eat food?”

“I don’t know,” Trace said because that had been one of the questions that his father hadn’t been able to find an answer for. Since he’d needed food as a child, he assumed that he could still eat. It was probably something that he should look into soon, he thought when he caught her scent and nearly groaned.

“We’ll figure it out,” Samantha said as she rubbed her hands down her face and continued heading up the stairs. Forcing himself to ignore just how good his wife smelled, he shifted his attention back to the one thing that he’d dreamed of having when he was a boy.

A home.

It hadn’t mattered to him where they’d lived just as long as they could finally stop running. He would have given anything to stop running, Trace thought even as he followed his wife into a bedchamber and found himself glancing out the window at the proof that his father had stopped running a long time ago.

“I just need to lay down for a few minutes,” his wife mumbled as she crawled onto the large bed and closed her eyes.

Absently nodding, Trace forced himself to look away from the cottage that he never should have run away from and walked over to the large bed where his wife was curled up on her side. He pushed the mattress down, noting that it didn’t feel like it was filled with straw. It was firmer than his wife’s small mattress, but it didn’t have her sweet scent. He shifted his attention to the rug beneath his feet, noting the way the gray material darkened with every step before shifting his attention to the light gray walls, the strange lanterns on the wall, and all the things that he’d never seen before.

The reminder of everything that had been taken from him had him heading for the one thing that he recognized, the bathroom. He took in the small room, noting that there were two water bowls in this room and that they were different from the ones at his wife’s house. Relieved that the toilet looked the same, he tried to work his pants open only to give up with a sigh and pushed them down until he could pull his cock free. As he relieved himself, Trace took in the rest of the room, noting the small glass closet in the corner and the large basin that was big enough to fit a grown man against the wall, the linen folded over metal bars, and the items lining the water bowl counters.

Once he was done, he pushed his cock back in his pants and pulled them up so that he could examine the items on the counter. He recognized the toothbrush and toothpaste, a hairbrush, but that was it. He took his time, carefully examining everything, taking in their scent, only to wonder what they were for. Sighing, Trace turned his attention back to the room to find his wife curled up in the middle of the bed, fast asleep.

Curious about her, Trace sat down on the bed next to her. When she didn’t open her eyes, he reached over to run his fingers through her long brown hair and couldn’t help but wonder why she affected him this way. For several minutes he sat there, content just to be near her, watching her sleep, and listening to the soothing sounds of her breathing until he decided that he’d put off finding out why his father sent them here long enough.

Trace ran his fingers through her hair one last time before he stood up and gestured for the dog to go to her. Wagging his tail, Charlie jumped onto the bed, curled up next to his wife, and-

Did he just shove her?

With an annoyed groan, the dog did it again until Samantha mumbled something in her sleep and moved over, leaving Trace to shake his head in disbelief as he shifted his attention to the scent that caught his attention when they’d arrived. Sending his wife one last glance to make sure that she was safe, he follow

ed the scent of blood downstairs and found himself standing in front of a metal door. Curious, he ran his fingertips over the smooth surface. For as long as he could remember, his father’s response to any sign of danger had been to run, which made him wonder why they were still here.

Deciding that it was time to find out, Trace opened the door and found himself looking down into a dark staircase. As his eyes shifted and everything took on different shades of blue, he walked down the stairs and into a large cellar filled with the lingering scent of blood, metal holding cells lined with thick bars, chains attached to the walls, and realized that his father was giving him exactly what he wanted.

Revenge.

Chapter 15

Carta, Washington

His son was alive, Ethan thought numbly as he sat there watching the large man that looked so much like his father step out of the basement, but it was those kind emerald eyes that had the air rushing out of his lungs. It had been so long since Ethan saw those incredibly kind eyes, but he would never forget them.

They’d saved him during the worst moment of his life.

As he’d been forced to watch his wife take her last breath, the terrified midwife that hadn’t been able to save her placed the small bundle that his wife died for in his trembling arms. He’d never planned on keeping his promise, not when it meant living in a world without Emily, but one look into his son’s eyes and he knew that he would do whatever it took to keep him safe.

Only to fail when Trace needed him the most, Ethan thought as his grip tightened around the steering wheel and the need to kill every last one of them-