Tall, Dark & Furious (Pyte/Sentinel 6)

Keeping his gaze locked with hers, he continued to slowly work his way inside her, sliding inside a little further each time until finally, he was pressed tightly against her. Wrapping his arms around her, he pulled her away from the wall. His gaze never leaving hers, he carried her upstairs.

Without a word, Hunter-

“I’m gonna need you to go back a bit. I’m not sure what he did ‘again’ to earn that ‘Oh, god’,” Samantha said, forced to interrupt him once again for the sake of the story, of course.

There was a slight pause and then, “Wife?”

“Hmmm?” she murmured absently only to decide that perhaps she’d pushed him too far when he said, “Why don’t we go for that swim in the river?”

*-*-*-*

“So, you heal people?” Trace asked, still trying to figure out what his wife was talking about when she sighed heavily, grabbed the iPad off the bed and after quickly typing something in, handed it to him with a, “This is what I do.”

Curious, he looked down at the screen and-

Found himself tossing the iPad away and looking at his wife in horror. “You cut people up?”

“What? No!” Samantha said, frowning as she picked up the iPad and cringed when she saw what was playing. “Okay, that’s actually a clip from Dexter.”

/> “What’s Dexter?” Trace asked as he watched her type something else before handing the iPad back to him.

“The next television show we’re binge-watching,” Samantha said, gesturing for him to look at the screen.

Knowing that he really didn’t have a choice, Trace looked down at the screen and frowned only to wince and-

“And you like doing this?” he asked, deciding that it would probably be for the best if he didn’t mention that seeing all this blood was making him hungry.

Shrugging, she said, “I’m not really sure anymore.”

“Then why do you do it?” he asked, watching as she climbed off the bed.

“It pays the bills,” Samantha said, shrugging it off as she headed towards the bathroom.

“What do you want to do?” he asked, tossing the iPad back on the bed and followed her.

“I honestly don’t know,” she said as she reached inside the shower and turned on the water.

For a moment, he imagined what it would be like to change her, the things that they could do, but it wasn’t an option. At least, turning her into a Pyte wasn’t an option, but once he took care of the bitch, he could still change her. She wouldn’t be a Pyte, but she could potentially live forever. He’d watch over her and protect her to ensure that happened. She wouldn’t be able to tolerate the sun, but they’d make this work if it meant that he never had to lose her.

*-*-*-*

“You’re supposed to be paying attention,” Samantha said, trying to sound firm as she glanced up so that she could send him a glare that he simply found adorable.

“I am,” he lied, having absolutely no idea what she was doing.

Then again, something told him that she didn’t know either. Over the past two weeks, she’d made it her personal mission in life, at least that’s how she’d described it, to show him everything.

Absolutely. Everything.

At least, she tried to, Trace thought, as the woman that meant everything to him grumbled something as she went back to doing whatever it was that she was trying to do. She was good at telling him what something was, but for the most part, she usually fumbled her way through trying to answer his follow up questions, for which there had been many. She usually ended up glaring at him as she shoved the iPad in his hands and told him to Google it.

Sometimes, he found himself asking her how something worked just so that he could watch that muscle beneath her eye begin to tick. She was a vicious little thing, Trace thought, unable to help but smile as she shifted her glare back to the television that she believed would help prepare him for all the changes that were waiting for him. The only thing it did was give him a headache, but he didn’t say anything since it seemed to make her happy.

“I think it’s broken,” Samantha mumbled sadly as her small shoulders dropped in defeat and she returned to staring at the thing in her hands.

“What is it supposed to be?” he asked, glancing at the television to find the screen black with the words “Video 1,” flashing, which didn’t tell him anything.

“A video game,” she said, sighing heavily as she handed him the plastic device in her hand with a muttered, “It’s a game controller,” and grabbed the papers that came in the box so that she could read through them again.