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

by R. L. Mathewson

  Somehow, he’d forced his attention away from that mouthwatering aroma and listened as the men argued about what to do with the small woman that Trace decided was his. He’d turned his attention to the men tearing apart the wall to get to him and nearly smiled when he’d realized that none of the men outside his small tomb was an Alpha.

  Although the scent of the men’s blood on the other side of the wall had been potent, woodsy, and so damn alluring that his fangs had throbbed, causing a stabbing pain to shoot through his jaw, he couldn’t sense any real strength in any of them. There was a hint of power and animal in the men, but what he smelled was their human form and he knew from what his father had taught him over the years that there was absolutely no mistaking the scent of an Alpha and the power that radiated from them.

  An Alpha retained his powers and strength in both forms and would have known before the first rock was chipped that Trace was still very much alive. His belief that they had no idea that he was still alive was confirmed when one of the men poked his head inside his tomb and announced that they were wasting their time. He’d forced himself to remain perfectly still, knowing that in his current state that he wouldn’t be able to break the rest of the stones away on his own. Listening to them threatening what was his had nearly put him into a rage, but after all this time in his tomb, he’d finally learned something about patience.

  Just as he saw his chance, Trace scented her fear mixed with the mouthwatering aroma that nearly had him forgetting his need to remain still and had him fighting his way to get to her. His fangs throbbed steadily in his mouth as he inhaled deeply, taking in the sweet intoxicating scent. Unwilling to tolerate his personal hell a moment longer, he’d forced himself to move, using his hunger to find the strength that he’d long ago thought was gone. As the woman fought for her freedom, he’d taken his.

  There was no hesitation in his attack. When he’d recognized the red hair of the large bastard that had attacked him all those years ago by the stream, he’d gladly sank his fangs into the thick neck and groaned when the first splash of hot blood hit the back of his parched throat. He’d wrapped his frail arm around the shifter’s neck, tightening his hold as power surged through his body. It was like nothing he’d ever experienced before.

  The blood his father had given him had always been pleasing to his stomach, but it had never been this good. Any thoughts of his stomach rejecting the shifter’s blood as his father had warned quickly died as new strength surged through him. He could feel his skin start to stretch and fill as the man in his grasp continued to struggle. He’d fed off the shifter in his arms until he felt the last heartbeat push the rest of the blood into his mouth before he dropped him, eager for more. All he cared about was more blood from the men who’d sent him into this hell. He’d ignored the weapons pointed in his direction, the noises exploding around him, and the bite of hot metal tearing through his side as he tore into the next man.

  He had to have more.

  He went after the next shifter and the next, ignoring their screams for mercy. When he heard a feminine grunt of pain, he’d dropped the shifter struggling in his arms and went after the man that had fallen on top of the small woman curled up on the floor. Growling, he’d grabbed the man by his hair and yanked him away from her, sinking his fangs into his neck and draining him dry even as he dragged him back over to the shifter who was now trying to get away.

  He refused to let anyone escape and alert the rest of the Pack that he was alive and ruin the surprise. He forced his painfully full stomach to take more blood, knowing that he was going to need it. As he dropped the last man to the ground, he watched as the woman that intrigued him slowly made her way towards the back wall.

  Curious about her, Trace silently made his way towards her until he was barely a foot away from her. She was a good head shorter than him, with long hair, but he couldn’t tell what color her hair was. Judging by the light tint of blue, he was guessing that it was either gold or light brown. Her eyes were wide open with fear as she desperately searched around her. He knew that she couldn’t see him, otherwise, she’d be screaming. When she stumbled to the ground, he’d made no move to help her, but took the opportunity to take in her scent.

  It was so damn sweet and enticing that it made his already full stomach rumble violently. As he leaned in to draw in her scent, he couldn’t help but wonder if all humans smelled this good and immediately dismissed the idea. If all humans smelled this good, none of them would be alive. No, this mouthwatering scent belonged to this woman and this woman alone.

  As he neared her, he could feel the heat pouring off her skin and nearly groaned in pleasure. He’d been cold for far too long and would gladly welcome this woman’s hot blood into his veins to warm his cold existence, but he stopped himself from taking her, but just barely. If the men were wrong about his father coming back here, then he was going to need her to navigate the new world he suddenly found himself in. He picked the limp woman up and carried her to a support beam in the middle of the large stone room. He placed her with her back against the beam. He barely gave her another thought as he took in his surroundings and couldn’t help but frown.

  Curious, he walked around the room, stepping over bodies and broken shards of glass and took in everything around him. He took his time running his fingertips over everything in the room, picking up things that drew his attention, and trying to figure out what they were. A few times, he got carried away and accidentally ripped pieces off or crushed things, so he threw those aside. As he looked over the strange items, he wondered how long he’d been in that tomb and if there was going to be anything left in this world for him to recognize.

  The delectable scent that she was giving off was proving too much for him to handle, so he forced himself to tear his attention away from the treasures lining the wood shelves and set to work. The first thing he needed to do was to get rid of the bodies before they drew the attention of other shifters. He grabbed what looked like a spade and tucked it under his arm, threw the largest of the men over his shoulder, and headed for the small stone stairs and the scent of fresh air cooling the already darkening night. For a moment, Trace stood at the top of the steps with his eyes closed and head dropped back as he took in the crisp, clean scent of the woods surrounding him and enjoyed the cool breeze as it swept over his skin.

  After a moment, Trace opened his eyes and took his first step outside, something that he never thought that he would be able to do again and kept walking. Without looking back, he moved through thick unruly brush, only pausing whenever he came across something that he’d never seen before. After wasting several minutes, he forced himself to keep moving, telling himself that there would be plenty of time to learn all the new changes he’d missed over the years.

  He’d known while he was in that tomb that things would change over time. His father had explained that the longer they lived, the more things changed. He still remembered sitting on his father’s knee, listening as his father shared stories of plagues, inventions, and all the things that had changed during his lifetime. Trace thought it was exciting and had looked forward to seeing all the changes occur in his lifetime.

  Anger surged through him at the reminder of everything he’d missed as he moved faster through the overgrown brush. Soon everything became a blur as he ran through the woods that he easily recognized even after all this time. Instead of enjoying his newfound strength, he was furious. The old anger that had kept him company in that tiny tomb surfaced once again, leaving him furious at himself for his stupidity, at the men that had done this to him, and that bitch that tricked him with soft smiles and kind words.

  He’d missed so much because of them, and he would make sure that they suffered for it.

  Trace threw the body off his shoulder when he found the spot his father had selected the first day they’d moved here. He was relieved to find that it still looked the same. It had been their chosen meeting place in case they became separated. It was the spot his father had told him t
o come to if he ever needed help. They had spots like this one all over Europe and in a few of the other colonies.

  He stepped in front of the large oak tree that still bared their small mark and broke out in a cold sweat, afraid that he wouldn’t find anything. If his father was still alive, he’d find more than just the small coin purse they’d buried here. His father would have added to it over the years, exchanging it for new currency when the old currency was replaced. If all he found was the small purse of copper coins, he would...

  God, he didn’t even want to think about what it would mean. His father was still out there waiting for him, Trace told himself even though he knew that he couldn’t leave. Not yet. He needed to take care of this first. Hopefully, the men were right and his father would come back here, but if he didn’t, then finding his father would have to wait until after he destroyed the bitch that betrayed him. Once he took care of her, he would find his father, searching every inch of the world until he found him.

  Decision made, he grabbed the spade and dug until he came across a metal box. Tossing the spade aside, he tore the box open, barely aware that he’d broken the lock with his bare hands and sighed with relief when he spotted the folded piece of parchment lying on a large cloth bag with his name written across it in what he vaguely remembered as his father’s handwriting.

  As he unfolded the parchment, he knew that everything would be fine and once he found that bitch and ripped her throat out, then everything would be perfect.

  Chapter 4

  The sound of glass shattering brought her fully awake with a pained gasp. Her heart pounded against her chest as memories from the night before came crashing down around her at the same time that Samantha realized that she was still gagged, her head was killing her, her neck was sore, and she was now sitting up against one of the support beams that ran through the middle of the dimly lit basement.

  Samantha looked around, and when she spotted blood on the stone floor in front of her, she forced herself to ignore it and searched for the source of the light. When she spotted the open bulk doors, she nearly sighed with relief. As long as they stayed open, she knew that she had a chance. If she managed to get loose, she’d run for the woods and keep running until she found somewhere to hide. If they closed the doors, she’d be running blind again and her chances wouldn’t be as good. She just needed to figure out where everyone was, she realized with a frown

  Where the hell were they? Samantha wondered as the sound of more glass shattering grabbed her attention in a big way. Swallowing nervously and forcing herself to remain calm, and hopefully conscious, she slowly turned her head and felt all the blood rush from her face.

  Near her grandmother’s prune preserves and her old Ready Set Bake Oven stood what could only be described as a monster. He was tall and large, very large. From what she could tell, and she couldn’t tell that much, not with his long gray, almost white scraggly hair and beard hanging down to his waist and almost too white tattered clothing hanging off him, but she knew that he was larger than Nathan.

  As he continued searching through their old things that not even the Salvation Army would take, Samantha looked him over. She noted the blood splatter on his ghostly white legs and muddy bare feet. As it was, she was having a difficult time believing that large hand reaching for her grandmother’s old bedpan, and seriously whose idea was it to save that, was the same thin hand that she saw reaching out of that hole.

  He was definitely filled out more than he had been before, Samantha noted. Even from this angle, she could see that. Her eyes of their own accord moved back down to the drying blood splattered on the floor and a horrible, gag-inducing thought occurred to her.

  Did he eat the bodies?

  “Oh, god,” she mumbled against the tape as black spots once again danced along her vision. She would not pass out, she couldn’t allow herself to pass out. It was time to be strong and deal with this. She would not pass out where he could...where he could...oh, god, she didn’t want to be this thing’s dessert, Samantha thought as darkness started to crowd her vision.

  Her eyes began to flutter shut and she fought it with everything she had. When she managed to blink her eyes open, she found herself nose to nose with the hideous monster.

  She screamed.

  He growled.

  She may have passed out.

  *-*-*-*

  “Where’s your men?” a deep, exotic lilting voice that she could happily listen to all day asked slowly, the words were a bit stressed as though he wasn’t used to speaking, but even that didn’t take away from the immense pleasure she took from listening to him speak even as her head continued to pound in agony. “Answer me, woman,” the voice demanded, sending a tingling sensation throughout her body, which was sadly the most pleasure a man had ever given her.

  Well, that wasn’t entirely true, Samantha thought a moment later as she yawned. Bob gave her a great deal of pleasure, but she wasn’t sure that he counted since he required batteries.

  “Huh?” Samantha said, not bothering to open her eyes as she tried to hold onto the last tendrils of sleep.

  “Where is your father? Husband? Your keeper, woman? Where is the man in your life?” the voice demanded harshly, but it was so damn sexy that she was having trouble getting mad.

  She reached up and rubbed her aching head, and for some reason, she thought the action was odd but couldn’t figure out why. “My father died ten years ago. I’m not married and I don’t need a keeper, but don’t tell my brother Nathan that. He thinks that I do.”

  “Where is this Nathan?” the voice demanded sharply.

  “Somewhere in Europe,” she answered as she slowly opened her eyes.

  When she saw the monster staring down at her, she clamped her hands over her mouth to stifle the scream that was threatening to escape since the last thing that she needed was to anger him. No, angering him would be a very bad idea, Samantha thought as he reached down and grabbed her arms and hauled her to her feet.

  “You have no man then?” he demanded, as he studied her through a tangle of long gray matted hair.

  No, not gray hair, she amended a second later when she caught a whiff of the dirt and dust matting his beard and hair together and sneezed. That seemed to startle a rather frightening growl from him. She tried to move away so that she wouldn’t do it again, but he refused to release her, leaving her with no other choice but to continue sneezing.

  “You have no man?” he asked her a little more forcefully as if she wasn’t currently setting a new world record for sneezing and threatening to take her migraine to a whole new level of agony.

  She went to answer him only to sneeze again, so she shook her head. She knew that she could have lied, probably should have lied, but for some reason, she didn’t think he’d be all that happy when he discovered that he’d been lied to.

  “Good. Then you’re mine,” he said, sounding pleased.

  “W-what?” Samantha asked around a sneeze that caused sharp pain to shoot through her throbbing head, unsure that she’d heard him correctly. Actually, she was positive that she’d misheard him thanks to the damn sneezes that refused to stop.

  “I’ve decided to keep you,” he said firmly and damn if that sexy accented voice didn’t make her shiver.

  “Um,” Samantha started to say only to pause when she swallowed nervously, “when you say, ‘keep me’ what exactly do you mean?” she asked as she chanted, please don’t mean eat me, in her head.

  “I mean that I take you as my wife,” he said in a hard tone that brokered no argument as he yanked her towards the small tunnel that led to the basement stairs.

  “Wait! Don’t I get a say in this?” she asked, trying to break free, but he simply tightened his grip on her and pushed her forward, sending her stumbling.

  She quickly righted herself and kept going, hoping that she could escape him long enough to find a weapon or call for help. When she came to the stone stairs, she broke into a run, praying that she wouldn’t fall and give hi
m a chance to catch her. She made it to the top of the stairs, grabbed the thick wood door and slammed it shut after noting that he was more than halfway down the stairs and didn’t seem to be in a rush.

  Her hands trembled as she threw the bolt before she stumbled back away from the door and gave herself a mental kick in the ass to get moving. She rushed over to the counter and started yanking drawers out, desperate for anything that could be used as a weapon. When her hand landed on her grandmother’s old splintered wood rolling pin, a loud crack sounded behind her.

  Afraid that she already knew what happened, she slowly turned around and swallowed hard as the monster shoved the broken door out of his way and walked towards her. His eyes shifted to the rolling pin in her hand before moving back to her face. When he was barely two feet away from her, he held out his hand in silent demand.

  As she contemplated her chances of taking this thing down with a rolling pin that would most likely break in half on the first hit, her eyes darted past him to the thick door that he’d broken in two right down the middle and then back to him. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that the odds of her escaping him weren’t that great, which brought up an interesting question.

  “Where are the other men?” Samantha asked, trying not to panic as she reluctantly handed the rolling pin over to him.

  He took it and tossed it aside. “Dead,” he said as he took his eyes off her so that he could look around the large outdated kitchen that was going to take a fortune to fix.

  “Dead?” she repeated hollowly.

  “Yes.”

  “D-did you eat them?” she asked, barely above a hoarse whisper. If he said yes, she knew there would be no hope whatsoever in stopping the next blackout. In fact, she would probably welcome it.