Page 2 of Chased

She had to be smarter than that.

So she cut the traditional slice of cake, put it on a china plate, picked up the proper cake fork, and walked over to Henri’s chair. For a moment she couldn’t go on.

“Don’t be shy,” Henri said. Asshole.

Madison summoned all her willpower. Then she knelt down in front of Henri’s chair, holding the cake up as if it were a fucking offering. According to fucking tradition.

“Thank you, sweetheart.” Henri was practically purring, seeing Madison all submissive at his feet. But he also wasn’t fooled.

Knowing that Aunt Solange’s view of him was blocked by her body, he closed his hand around Madison’s wrist. Hard. “I’m truly looking forward to our mating. Give me a kiss.”

Don’t give yourself away, she reminded herself. Pretend you’re going along. Don’t give them a reason to think you might run, or they’ll make sure you don’t.

She lifted her face for the kiss, knowing her eyes were shooting daggers at Henri. His mouth curled in amusement, and he kissed her gently. Then, as he reached out for the cake plate, he dug his fingers viciously into the tendons where her thumb met her wrist. Pain shot all the way up to her shoulder.

Madison stabbed him in the arm with the cake fork.

Chaos ensued.

Henri was cursing and bleeding and cursing some more. Aunt Solange was apologizing and giving him napkins to stop the bleeding, and ringing imperiously for the servants. And Madison was backed up against the fireplace, eyes wide and innocent, blubbering and apologizing and keeping her hands over her mouth in case she started laughing.

Finally, Henri was taken away by the butler to have his wound dressed. Sadly, it was only a few small punctures, so with his accelerated shifter healing, they would probably be gone in a couple of hours.

Madison was marched to her uncle’s study by her Aunt Solange.

She didn’t really listen to the furious lecture they both gave her, which was all about ingratitude and her selfishness in going her own rebellious way and endangering all her uncle’s complicated business negotiations with the Levesques.

Uncle François even slapped her, which he very rarely did—unlike her father. Madison knew the businesses had had some reverses lately, but he must really be counting on her ovaries to compensate for his bad luck—or bad management.

Finally he dismissed her—but when she tried to head for her own room, her aunt pulled her back. “You’d best be careful,” she said. “If you keep on like this, refusing to submit, the Levesques could call for a Hunt.”

Madison’s stomach went cold. The Hunt was an outdated mating practice, but it hadn’t disappeared entirely. An eligible lapin girl was made to Change to her animal and sent out cross-country on the Hunt course, and her suitor or suitors chased her down. Then the winner mated with her, and marked her as his own.

The custom had still been around in Aunt Solange’s day—that’s where the scar on her face came from. The Renards always made sure to scar them where it showed. Lapins mated to Renards were no longer objects of beauty—they were breeders. And they needed to know their place, needed to understand that submission was a requirement, not an option.

Madison’s mother’s scar had been worse.

Sometimes at night in the dark, Madison had imagined the Hunt—the terror and panic of her lapin, running for what must feel like her life—until a fox ran her to ground, forcibly mated her, and tore at her flesh.

“They wouldn’t,” she whispered now, feeling sick.

We would fight, Vixen said inside her. We would kill them dead.

But they couldn’t. Rabbits ran—they didn’t fight. They didn’t have the strength or the weapons.

“It’s up to you to see that they don’t have to,” Aunt Solange said. “Although, a Hunt would do you good. Teach you your place. Now go wait for Henri at the door, and for the gods’ sake, apologize sincerely, or you’ll deserve everything you get.”

Aunt Solange went with her to the front door, obviously not trusting Madison to really do it. When Henri showed up a few minutes later with his suit jacket over his shoulder and a bandage on his arm, she practically shoved Madison at him.

“My niece has something to say to you,” she said, giving Madison a meaningful ‘don’t screw this up’ glare.

Might as well go through the motions. Henri might buy it, especially because the red mark where Uncle François had slapped her was still visible. Maybe he’d think she was cowed?

So she made her eyes wide and limpid and said, “I really am so sorry, Henri. I don’t know what happened. You just…” She started to say, You startled me, and changed it to, “I was startled.” Lapin females didn’t say anything accusatory to their men. Nothing was the man’s fault.

“The plate started to slip, and when I went to grab it, I forgot I had the fork. It was incredibly stupid of me.” She touched his arm. “I’m glad you weren’t badly hurt. It will never happen again.”

“I should think not,” Aunt Solange said. “Now come along—”