Page 3 of Chased

She started to pull Madison away, but Henri put a hand on her arm. “I understand,” he said gently. “Come on, mignonne.” Darling. Yechh. “Walk with me to my car.” He extended a crooked elbow, like an old-fashioned gentleman.

Madison was pleased to see that his rolled-up sleeve still had spots of blood on it.

Stomach churning, she took his arm and walked across the portico with him to his sleek, fancy car. He stopped next to it, facing her.

“You little bitch,” he said softly. “What the hell do you think you’re playing at?”

Chapter 2

“What the hell are you playing at?” she whispered back, trying not to let her feelings show on her face. Aunt Solange was watching from one of the long windows that flanked the front door. “Why on the gods’ green earth would you want me as a mate?”

“You know why,” he said. “You’re one of the few half-bloods of our generation who turned out female. Much greater chance that you’ll manage to produce at least one Renard for my branch of the House. My brother doesn’t have any.” He sounded smug about that.

“Right,” she said. “I’m just a little fur-covered womb to put your babies in. Assuming you’re not shooting blanks like most of the Renard men.”

Anger darkened his eyes, and his hand closed on her wrist again, digging into the bruises he’d already made.

“Believe me, I’m not,” he said. “And if you fail the first time, then we’ll just have to keep trying—and trying—until you succeed.”

She hissed at the pain. “You seriously want to tie yourself for life to a woman who can’t stand you?”

He pulled her closer and said in a low, caressing voice, “But don’t you see? That’s the best part. Teaching you how to be a dutiful, obedient mate is going to be so, so hot.”

A chill went through her. He wanted her to fight. He wanted to break her. He was looking forward to it, the bastard.

And even when she’d given up all hope, when—like her mother—she was too broken to do anything but what she was told, he’d still be happy. Because he’d know that every little thing she did was a victory for him, and he’d savor it.

He yanked her against his body and wrapped his hand around her neck, forcing her mouth to his in a painful kiss.

Nausea rose in her, but unfortunately not far enough for her to throw up all over him. Which would have been awesome.

Finally, he released her. “You might as well accept it, lapereau. You’re going to have to grow up and learn your place in the world. I’m looking forward to it.”

Then he let her go and walked around to the driver’s side of the car, smiling. He blew her a kiss.

Madison watched him drive away, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, her back to the foyer windows so her aunt wouldn’t see.

Not that she’d care, as long as the mating still happened.

Lapereau. Technically it meant an immature rabbit, but the Renards used it to describe unmated lapin women. Or ones that hadn’t yet been broken—who were young and stupid enough to believe they could still have thoughts and ideas and feelings of their own.

Henri thought he’d won; he believed he held all the cards. And maybe she couldn’t fight him directly—that wasn’t the lapin way.

But though she and Vixen were lapin on the outside, they were foxes in their hearts. Foxes were clever and quick. And rabbits—well, rabbits might be prey, but they were also born escape artists.

If you can’t fight, you do the next best thing. Escape.

Late that night Madison sneaked out of the house, her cardigan pockets stuffed full, and went out to her secret place near the edge of the Fontaine estate.

The grounds were huge—acres of lawns, gardens and wooded glades, surrounded by a high stone wall. Back in a secluded corner was a forgotten summerhouse that Madison and her cousin Amandine had convinced a couple of the maintenance staff—lapin guys they’d gone to high school with—to fix up for them in secret.

As teenagers, it had been their private hideaway. After Amandine was mated off and moved away, Madison had taken it over. It was the one place she could be herself.

She went inside and pulled the shades, making sure all the windows were completely covered before lighting the battery-powered lanterns. Then she went to the far corner and pulled the comfy sagging armchair aside, prying up a section of floorboards to reveal the hidden compartment underneath.

Inside was a suitcase, mostly packed. She hauled it out and opened it, mentally cataloguing the contents.

This was all she could take with her of her current self—all she’d have to her name until she could start over. She’d been sneaking clothes and other necessities out here for weeks in pockets and down the front of her shirt, a few pieces at a time.